lifililiiilllilllil 

3   1822  01025  9547 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  01  EGO 


1 


fii|i§iliiii       pQ 


ss 


Illustrated  Sterling  6dition 


THE 

Chevalier    d'Harmental 


BY 

ALEXANDRE    DUMAS 

ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 
DANA   ESTES   &   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


CONTEÎ^TS. 


II. 
III. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 
VIL 
VIII. 
IX. 
X. 
XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXT. 
XXII. 
XXIII. 


Pads 

Captain  Roquefinette '-^ 

19 
The  Meeting • 

28 
Tue  Chevalier 

A  Bal-masque  of  the  Peiuod.  — Tue  Bat  .    .  37 

49 
The  Arsenal 

The  Prince  de  Cellamare  . ^8 

....  66 

Alberoni  

The  Garret ^^ 

A  Citizen  of  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu      .     .  84 

The  Agreement 92 

Pros  and  Cons •  ^^ 

The  Denis  Family 113 

The  Crimson  Rihbon 125 

The  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants 135 

Jean  Bouvat 1^9 

Bathilde 1^^ 

First  Love 1^^ 

The  Consul  Duilius 200 

The  Abbé  Dubois 2)3 

The  Conspiracy ^22 

The  Order  of  the  Honey-Bee 230 

The  Queen  of  the  Greenlanders 234 

The  Due  de  Richelieu 243 


VI 

Ohaptek 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

xxxvt. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 


CONTENTS. 

Jealousy      

A  PkKTEXT   , 

countkkplots  

The  Seventh  Heaven « 

Fénelon's  Successor < 

The  Prince  de  Listhnay's  Accomplice.    .  : 

The  Fox  ani>  the  Goose ^ 

A  Chapter  of  Saint-Simon s 

A  Snare  „ 

The  Beginning  of  the  End 3 

Parliamentary  Justice 3 

Man  Proposes .^ 

David  and  Goliath 3 

The  Saviour  of  France 3 

God  Disposes 3 

A  Prime  Minister's  Memory 3 

Boniface ^ 

The  Three  Visits 4 

The  Closet 4^ 

The  Marriage  in  Extremis 4; 

Postscriptum 4; 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 
PoETKAlT  OF  DuBOis Fro7itispiece 

Portrait  of  the  Regent 200 

Portrait  of  tue  Duchesse  du  Maine 233 

Death  of  Roquefinette 370 

Bathilde  on  her  Way  to  the  Regent 427 


THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 


THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER    I. 

CAPTAIN    KOQUKFINlîTXfi. 

On  the  22cl  of  March,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1718,  a 
young  cavalier  of  high  bearing,  about  twenty-six  or  twenty- 
eight  years  of  age,  mounted  on  a  pure-bred  Spanish 
charger,  was  waiting,  towards  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, at  that  end  of  the  Pont  Neuf  which  abuts  on  the  Quai 
de  l'Ecole. 

He  was  so  upright  and  firm  in  his  saddle  that  one  might 
have  imagined  him  to  be  placed  there  as  a  sentinel  by  the 
Lieutenant-General  of  Police,  Messire  Voyer  d'Argenson. 
After  waiting  about  half  an  hour,  during  which  time  he 
impatiently  examined  the  clock  of  the  Samaritaine,  his 
glance,  wandering  till  then,  appeared  to  rest  with  satisfac- 
tion on  an  individual  who,  coming  from  the  Place  Dauphine, 
turned  to  the  right,  and  advanced  towards  him. 

The  man  who  thus  attracted  the  attention  of  the  young 
chevalier  was  a  powerfully  built  fellow  of  five  feet  ten, 
wearing,  instead  of  a  peruke,  a  forest  of  his  own  black 
hair,  slightly  grizzled,  dressed  in  a  manner  half-bourgeois, 
half-military,  ornamented  with  a  shoulder-knot  which  had 
once  been  crimson,  but  from  exposure  to  sun  and  rain  had 
become  a  dirty  orange.  He  was  armed  with  a  long  sword 
slung  in  a  belt,  and  which  bumped  ceaselessly  against  the 
calves  of  his  legs.  Finally,  he  wore  a  hat  once  furnished 
with  a  plume  and  lace,  and  which  —  in  remembrance,  no 


10  THE  giievalip:r  d'harmental. 

doubt,  of  its  past  splendour  —  its  owner  had  stuck  so  much 
over  his  left  ear  that  it  seemed  as  if  only  a  miracle  of 
equilibrium  could  keep  it  in  its  place.  There  was  alto- 
gether in  the  countenance  and  in  the  carriage  and  bearing 
of  the  man  (who  seemed  from  forty  to  forty-five  years  of 
age,  and  who  advanced  swaggering  and  keeping  the  middle 
of  the  road,  curling  his  moustache  with  one  hand,  and  with 
the  other  signing  to  the  carriages  to  give  place)  such  a 
character  of  insolent  carelessness  that  the  cavalier  who 
watched  him  smiled  involuntarily  as  he  murmured  to 
himself,  "I  believe  this  is  my  man." 

In  consequence  of  this  probability,  he  walked  straight  up 
to  the  new-comer,  with  the  evident  intention  of  speaking 
to  him.  The  latter,  though  he  evidently  did  not  know  the 
cavalier,  seeing  that  he  was  going  to  address  him,  placed 
himself  in  the  third  position,  and  waited,  one  hand  on  his 
sword,  and  the  other  on  his  moustache,  to  hear  what  the 
person  who  was  coming  up  had  to  say  to  him.  Indeed,  as 
the  man  with  the  orange  ribbon  had  foreseen,  the  young 
cavalier  stopped  his  horse  by  him,  and  touching  his  hat, 
"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  think  I  may  conclude,  from  your  appear- 
ance and  manner,  that  you  are  a  gentleman;  am  I 
mistaken  ?  " 

"No,  palsam-hleu ! "  replied  he  to  whom  this  strange 
question  was  addressed,  touching  his  hat  in  his  turn.  "I 
am  delighted  that  my  appearance  speaks  so  well  for  me, 
for,  however  little  you  would  think  that  you  were  giving 
me  my  proper  title,  you  may  call  me  captain." 

"I  am  enchanted  that  you  are  a  soldier;  it  is  an  addi- 
tional security  to  me  that  you  are  incapable  of  leaving  a 
brave  man  in  distress." 

"  Welcome,  provided  always  the  brave  man  has  no  need 
of  my  purse;  for  I  confess,  freely,  that  I  have  just  left  my 
last  crown  in  a  cabaret  on  the  Port  de  la  Tonnelle." 

"Nobody  wants  your  purse,  captain;  on  the  contrary,  I 
beg  you  to  believe  that  mine  is  at  your  disposal." 

"  To  whom  have  I  the  honour  to  speak  ?  "  asked  the  cap- 


CAPTAIN    ROQUEFINETTE.  11 

tain,  visibly  touched  by  this  reply,  "and  in  what  can  I 
oblige  you  ?  " 

"1  am  the  Baron  René  de  Valef,"  replied  the  cavalier. 

"I  think,"  interrupted  the  captain,  "that  I  knew,  in  the 
Flemish  wars,  a  family  of  that  name." 

"It  was  mine,  since  we  are  from  Liège."  The  two 
speakers  exchanged  bows. 

"You  must  know,  then,"  continued  the  Baron  de  Valef, 
"that  the  Chevalier  Raoul  d'Harmental,  one  of  my  most 
intimate  friends ,  last  night,  in  my  company,  picked  up  a 
quarrel,  which  will  finish  this  morning  by  a  meeting.  Our 
adversaries  were  three,  and  we  but  two.  I  went  this 
morning  to  the  houses  of  the  Marquis  de  Gacé  and  Comte 
de  Sourgis,  but  unfortunately  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  had  passed  the  night  in  his  bed;  so,  as  the  affair 
could  not  wait,  as  I  must  set  out  in  two  hours  for  Spain, 
and  as  we  absolutely  require  a  second,  or  rather  a  third, 
I  installed  myself  on  the  Pont  Neuf  with  the  intention  of 
addressing  the  first  gentleman  who  passed.  You  passed, 
and  I  addressed  myself  to  you." 

"And  you  have  done  right,  pardicu  !  rest  satisfied,  baron, 
I  am  your  man.     What  hour  is  fixed  for  the  meeting  ?  " 

"Half -past  nine  this  morning." 

"  Where  will  it  take  place  ?  " 

"At  the  Port  Maillot." 

"  Diable  !  there  is  no  time  to  lose  ;  but  you  are  on  horse- 
back and  I  am  on  foot  ;  how  shall  we  manage  that  ?  " 

"There  is  a  way,  captain." 

"What  is  it?" 

"It  is  that  you  should  do  me  the  honour  of  mounting 
behind  me." 

"Willingly,  baron." 

'*I  warn  you,  however,"  added  the  young  cavalier,  with 
a  slight  smile,  "that  my  horse  is  rather  spirited." 

"  Oh,  I  know  him  !  "  said  the  captain,  drawing  back  a 
step,  and  looking  at  the  beautiful  animal  with  the  eye  of  a 
connoisseur;  "if  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  was  bred  between 


12  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

the  mountains  of  Granada  and  the  Sierra  Morena.  I  rode 
such  a  one  at  Almanza,  and  I  have  often  made  him  lie 
down  like  a  sheep  when  he  wanted  to  carry  me  off  at  a 
gallop,  only  by  pressing  him  with  my  knees." 

"You  reassure  me.     To  horse,  then,  captain." 

"Here  I  am,  baron." 

And  without  using  the  stirrup,  which  the  young  cavalier 
left  free  for  him,  with  a  single  bound  the  captain  sprang 
on  to  the  croup. 

The  baron  had  spoken  truly;  his  horse  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  so  heavy  a  load,  therefore  he  attempted  to  get 
rid  of  it.  Neither  had  the  captain  exaggerated,  and  the 
animal  soon  felt  that  he  had  found  his  master;  so  that, 
after  a  few  attempts,  which  had  no  other  effect  than  to 
show  to  the  passers-by  the  address  of  the  two  cavaliers, 
he  became  obedient,  and  went  at  a  swinging  trot  down  the 
Quai  de  l'École,  which  at  that  time  was  nothing  but  a 
wharf,  crossed  at  the  same  pace  the  Quai  du  Louvre  and  the 
Quai  des  Tuileries,  through  the  gate  of  the  Conference,  and 
leaving  on  the  left  the  road  to  Versailles,  threaded  the 
great  avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  which  now  leads  to 
the  triumphal  Arc  de  l'Étoile.  Arrived  at  the  Pont 
d'Antin,  the  Baron  de  Valef  slackened  his  horse's  pace  a 
little,  for  he  found  that  he  had  ample  time  to  arrive  at  the 
Port  Maillot  at  the  hour  fixed. 

The  captain  profited  by  this  respite. 

"  May  I,  without  indiscretion,  ask  why  we  are  going  to 
fight  ?  I  wish,  you  understand,  to  know  that,  in  order  to 
regulate  my  conduct  towards  my  adversary,  and  to  know 
whether  it  is  worth  while  killing  him." 

"That  is  only  fair,"  answered  the  baron;  "I  will  tell 
you  everything  as  it  passed.  We  were  supping  last 
night  at  La  Fillon's.  Of  course  you  know  La  Fillon, 
captain  ?  " 

"  Pardieu!  it  was  I  who  started  her  in  the  world,  in  1705, 
before  my  Italian  campaign.  " 

"Well,"  replied  the  baron,  laughing,  "you  may  boast  of 


CAPTAIN   KOQUEFINETTE.  13 

a  pupil  who  does  you  honour.  Briefly,  I  supped  there  tête- 
à-tête  with  D'Harmental." 

"  Without  any  one  of  the  fair  sex  ?  " 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu,  yes!  I  must  tell  you  that  D'Harmental 
is  a  kind  of  Trappist,  only  going  to  La  Fillon's  for  fear  of 
the  reputation  of  not  going  there  ;  only  loving  one  woman 
at  a  time,  and  in  love  for  the  moment  with  the  little 
D'Averne,  the  wife  of  the  lieutenant  of  the  guards." 

"Very  good!  " 

"  We  were  there,  chatting,  when  we  heard  a  merry  party 
enter  the  room  next  to  ours.  As  our  conversation  did  not 
concern  anybody  else,  we  kept  silence,  and,  without  in- 
tending it,  heard  the  conversation  of  our  neighbours.  See 
what  chance  is.  Our  neighbours  talked  of  the  only  thing 
which  we  ought  not  to  have  heard." 

"Of  the  chevalier's  mistress,  perhaps  ?" 

*'  Exactly.  At  the  first  words  of  their  discourse  which 
reached  me,  I  rose,  and  tried  to  get  Raoul  away,  but 
instead  of  following  me,  he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
and  made  me  sit  down  again.  '  Then  Philippe  is  making 
love  to  the  little  D'Averne  ?  '  said  one.  *  Since  the  fête 
of  the  Maréchal  d'Estrée,  where  she  gave  him  a  sword- 
belt  with  some  verses,  in  which  she  compared  him  to  Mars,  ' 
replied  another  voice.  '  That  is  eight  days  ago,  '  said  a 
third.  '  Yes,  '  replied  the  first.  '  Oh  !  she  made  a  kind  of 
resistance,  either  that  she  really  held  by  poor  D'Harmental, 
or  that  she  knew  that  the  regent  only  likes  those  who  resist 
him.  At  last  this  morning,  in  exchange  for  a  basketful 
of  flowers  and  jewels,  she  has  consented  to  receive  his 
Highness.'" 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  captain,  "  I  begin  to  understand  ;  the 
chevalier  got  angry." 

"  Exactly.  Instead  of  laughing,  as  you  or  I  would  have 
done,  and  profiting  by  this  circumstance  to  get  back  his 
brevet  of  colonel,  which  was  taken  from  him  under  pretext 
of  economy,  D'Harmental  became  so  pale  that  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  faint  ;  then,  approaching  the  partition,  and 


14  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENÏAL. 

striking  with  his  fist,  to  ensure  silence,  '  Gentlemen,'  said 
he,  '  I  am  sorry  to  contradict  you,  but  the  one  who  said  that 
Mademoiselle  d'Averne  had  granted  a  rendezvous  to  the 
regent,  or  to  any  other,  has  told  a  lie.'  " 

"'It  was  I  who  said  it,  and  who  repeat  it,  and  if  it  dis- 
pleases you,  my  name  is  Lafare,  captain  of  the  guards.' 
'  And  mine,  Fargy,'  said  a  second  voice.  *  And  mine, 
Ravanne,'  said  the  third.  '  Very  well,  gentlemen,'  replied 
D'Harmental,  'to-morrow,  from  nine  to  half -past,  at  the 
Port  Maillot.'  And  he  sat  down  again  opposite  me.  They 
talked  of  something  else,  and  we  finished  our  supper. 
That  is  the  whole  affair,  captain,  and  you  now  know  as 
much  as  I." 

The  captain  gave  vent  to  a  kind  of  exclamation  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  This  is  not  very  serious  ;  "  but  in  spite  of 
this  semi-disapprobation,  he  resolved  none  the  less  to  sup- 
port, to  the  best  of  his  power,  the  cause  of  which  he  had  so 
unexpectedly  been  made  the  champion,  however  defective 
that  cause  might  appear  to  him  in  principle  ;  besides,  even 
had  he  wished  it,  he  had  gone  too  far  to  draw  back.  They 
had  now  arrived  at  the  Port  Maillot,  and  a  young  cavalier, 
who  appeared  to  be  waiting,  and  who  had  from  a  distance 
perceived  the  baron  and  the  captain,  put  his  horse  to  the 
gallop,  and  approached  rapidly;  this  was  the  Chevalier 
d'Harmental. 

"My  dear  chevalier,"  said  the  Baron  de  Valef,  grasping 
his  hand,  "  permit  me,  in  default  of  an  old  friend,  to  pres- 
ent to  you  a  new  one.  Neither  Sourgis  nor  Gacé  was  at 
home.  I  met  this  gentleman  on  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  told 
him  our  embarrassment,  and  he  offered  himself  to  free  us 
from  it,  with  the  greatest  good-will."' 

"I  am  doubly  grateful  to  you,  then,  my  dear  Valef,"  re- 
pied  the  chevalier,  casting  on  the  captain  a  look  which 
betrayed  a  slight  astonishment.  "And  to  you,  monsieui-," 
continued  he.  "I  must  excuse  myself  for  making  your 
acquaintance  by  mixing  you  up  thus  with  an  unpleasant 
affair.     But  you  will  afford  me   one  day   or  another   an 


CAPTAIN  ROQUEFINETTE.  15 

opportunity  to  return  your  kindness,  and  I  hope  and  beg 
that,  an  opportunity  arising,  you  will  dispose  of  me  as  I 
have  of  you." 

"Well  said,  chevalier,"  replied  the  captain,  leaping  to 
the  ground;  "and  in  speaking  thus  you  might  lead  me  to 
the  end  of  the  world.  The  proverb  is  right:  '  It  is  only 
mountains  that  don't  meet.'  " 

"Who  is  this  original?"  asked  D'Harmental  of  Valef, 
while  the  captain  stamped  the  calls  with  his  right  foot, 
to  stretch  his  legs. 

"Ma  foi!  I  do  not  know,"  said  Valef;  "but  I  do  know 
that  we  should  be  in  a  great  dithculty  without  him.  Some 
poor  officer  of  fortune,  without  doubt,  whom  the  peace  has 
thrown  abroad  like  so  many  others;  but  we  will  judge  him 
by  and  by,  by  his  works." 

"Well!"  said  the  captain,  becoming  animated  with  the 
exercise  he  was  taking,  "  where  are  our  adversaries  ?  " 

"When  I  came  up  to  you,"  replied  D'Harmental,  "they 
had  not  arrived,  but  I  perceived  at  the  end  of  the  avenue 
a  kind  of  hired  carriage,  which  will  serve  as  an  excuse  if 
they  are  late;  and  indeed,"  added  the  chevalier,  pulling 
out  a  beautiful  watch  set  with  diamonds,  "  they  are  not 
behind  time,  for  it  is  hardly  half-past  nine." 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Valef,  dismounting  and  throwing  the 
reins  to  D'Harmental's  valet;  "for  if  they  arrive  at  the 
rendezvous  while  we  stand  gossiping  here,  it  will  appear 
as  though  we  had  kept  them  waiting." 

"You  are  right,"  said  D'Harmental;  and,  dismounting, 
he  advanced  towards  the  entrance  of  the  wood,  followed 
by  his  two  companions. 

"Will  you  not  take  anything,  gentlemen  ?"  said  the  land- 
lord of  the  restaurant,  who  was  standing  at  his  door, 
waiting  for  custom. 

"Yes,  Maître  Durand,"  replied  D'Harmental,  who 
wished,  in  order  that  they  might  not  be  disturbed,  to  make 
it  appear  as  if  they  had  come  from  an  ordinary  walk, 
"  breakfast  for  three.     We  are  going  to  take  a  turn  in  the 


16  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HAKMENTAL. 

avenue,  and  then  Ave  shall  come  back."  And  he  let  three 
louis  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  innkeeper. 

The  captain  saw  the  shine  of  the  three  gold  pieces  one 
after  another,  and  quickly  reckoned  up  what  might  be  had 
at  the  "Bois  de  Boulogne  "  for  seventy-two  francs;  but  as 
he  knew  whom  he  had  to  deal  with,  he  judged  that  a  little 
advice  from  him  would  not  be  useless;  consequently,  in 
his  turn  approaching  the  vudtre  (Tliôtel,  — 

"Listen,  my  friend,"  said  he;  "you  know  that  I  under- 
stand the  price  of  things,  and  that  no  one  can  deceive 
me  about  the  amount  of  a  tavern  bill.  Let  the  wines  be 
good  and  varied,  and  let  the  breakfast  be  copious,  or  I 
will  break  your  head.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"Be  easy,  captain,"  answered  Durand;  "it  is  not  a  cus- 
tomer like  you  whom  I  would  deceive." 

"All  right;  I  have  eaten  nothing  for  twelve  hours. 
Arrange  accordingly." 

The  hotel-keeper  bowed,  as  knowing  what  that  meant, 
and  went  back  to  his  kitchen,  beginning  to  think  that  he 
had  made  a  worse  bargain  than  he  had  hoped. 

As  to  the  captain,  after  having  made  a  last  sign  of  recog- 
nition, half -amicable,  half-threp^tening,  he  quickened  his 
pace,  and  rejoined  the  chevalier  and  the  baron,  who  had 
stopped  to  wait  for  him. 

The  chevalier  was  not  wrong  as  to  the  situation  of  the 
hired  carriage.  At  the  turn  of  the  first  alley  he  saw  his 
three  adversaries  getting  out  of  it.  They  were,  as  we 
have  already  said,  the  Marquis  de  Lafare,  the  Comte  de 
Fargy,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Ra vanne. 

Our  readers  will  now  permit  us  to  give  them  some  short 
details  of  these  three  personages,  who  will  often  reappear 
in  the  course  of  this  history.  Lafare,  the  best  known  of 
the  three,  thanks  to  the  poetry  which  he  has  left  behind 
him,  was  a  man  of  about  thirty-six  or  thirty-eight  years, 
of  a  frank  and  open  countenance,  and  of  an  inexhaustible 
gaiety  and  good-humour,  —  always  ready  to  engage  with  all 
comers  at   table,  at  play,   or  at  arms,  and  that  without 


CAPTAIN    ROQUEFINETTE.  17 

malice  or  bitterness  ;  much  run  after  by  the  fair  sex,  and 
much  beloved  by  the  regent,  who  had  named  him  his  cap- 
tain of  the  guards,  and  who,  during  the  ten  years  in  which 
he  had  admitted  him  into  his  intimacy,  had  found  him  his 
rival  sometimes,  but  his  faithful  servant  always.  Thus  the 
prince,  who  had  the  habit  of  giving  nick-names  to  all  his 
boon  companions,  as  Avell  as  to  his  mistresses,  never  called 
him  any  other  than  "bon  enfant."  Nevertheless,  for  some 
time  the  popularity  of  Lafare,  established  as  it  was  by 
agreeable  antecedents,  was  fast  lowering  amongst  the  ladies 
of  the  court  and  the  girls  of  the  opera.  There  was  a  report 
current  that  he  was  going  to  be  so  ridiculous  as  to  become 
a  well-behaved  man.  It  is  true  that  some  people,  in  order 
to  preserve  his  reputation  for  him,  whispered  that  this 
apparent  conversion  had  no  other  cause  than  the  jealousy 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Conti,  daughter  of  the  duchess,  and 
granddaughter  of  the  great  Conde,  who  it  was  said  honoured 
the  regent's  captain  of  the  guards  with  a  particular  affec- 
tion. His  alliance  with  the  Due  de  Eichelieu,  who  on  his 
side  was  supposed  to  be  the  lover  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Charolais,  gave  consistency  to  this  report." 

The  Comte  de  Fargy,  generally  called  "Le  Beau  Fargy," 
thus  substituting  the  title  which  he  had  received  from 
nature  for  that  which  his  fathers  had  left  him,  was  cited, 
as  his  name  indicates,  as  the  handsomest  man  of  his  time, 
which  in  that  age  of  gallantry  imposed  obligations  from 
which  he  had  never  recoiled,  and  from  which  he  had  always 
come  with  honour.  Indeed  it  was  impossible  to  be  a  more 
perfect  figure  than  he  was.  At  once  strong  and  graceful, 
supple  and  active,  he  seemed  to  unite  all  the  different  per- 
fections of  a  hero  of  romance  of  that  time.  Add  to  this  a 
charming  head,  uniting  the  most  opposite  styles  of  beauty, 
—  that  is  to  say,  black  hair  and  blue  eyes,  strongly-marked 
features,  and  a  complexion  like  a  woman,  — unite  with  all 
these,  wit,  loyalty,  the  greatest  courage,  and  you  will  have 
an  idea  of  the  high  consideration  which  Le  Fargy  must 
have  enjoyed  from  the  society  of  that  mad  period. 

•I 


18  THE   CHEVALIER   D^HARMENTAL. 

As  to  the  Chevalier  de  Ravanne,  who  has  left  lis  such 
strange  memoirs  of  his  early  life  that,  in  spite  of  their 
autlienticity,  one  is  tempted  to  believe  them  apocryphal,  he 
was  still  but  a  youth,  rich,  and  of  noble  birth,  who  entered 
into  life  by  a  golden  door,  and  ran  into  all  its  pleasures 
with  the  fiery  imprudence  and  eagerness  of  his  age.  He 
carried  to  excess,  as  so  many  do  at  eighteen,  all  the 
vices  and  all  the  virtues  of  his  day.  It  will  be  easily 
understood  how  proud  he  was  to  serve  as  second  to  men 
like  Lafare  and  Fargy  in  a  meeting  which  was  likely  to 
'^niake  a  noise." 


THE   MEETING.  19 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE   MEETING. 


As  soon  as  Lafare,  Fargy,  and  Ravanne  saw  their  adversa- 
ries appear  at  tlie  corner  of  the  path,  they  walked  to  meet 
them.  Arrived  at  ten  paces  from  each  other,  they  all  took 
off  their  hats  and  bowed  with  that  elegant  politeness  whicli 
was  a  characteristic  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  advanced  some  steps  thus  bareheaded  with  a 
smile  on  their  lips,  so  that  to  the  eyes  of  the  passer-by, 
ignorant  of  the  cause  of  their  réunion,  they  would  have 
appeared  like  friends  enchanted  to  meet. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Clievalier  d'Harmental,  to  whom 
the  first  word  by  right  belonged,  "  I  hope  that  neither  you 
nor  we  have  been  followed  ;  but  it  is  getting  late,  and  we 
might  be  disturbed  here,  I  think  it  would  be  wise  in  us  to 
find  a  more  retired  spot,  where  we  shall  be  more  at  ease  to 
transact  the  little  business  which  we  have  in  hand." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Ravanne,  "I  know  one  which  will 
suit  you,  a  hundred  yards  from  here,  — a  true  cover." 

"Come,  let  us  follow  the  child,"  said  the  captain;  "  inno- 
cence leads  to  safety." 

Ravanne  turned  round,  and  examined,  from  head  to  foot, 
our  friend  with  the  yellow  ribbons. 

"  If  you  are  not  previously  engaged,  my  strapping  friend,  " 
said  he,  in  a  bantering  tone,  "I  claim  the  preference." 

"Wait  a  moment,  Ravanne,"  interrupted  Lafare;  "I  have 
some  explanations  to  give  to  Monsieur  d'Harmental." 

"Monsieur  Lafare,"  replied  the  chevalier,  "your  cour- 
age is  so  well  known,  that  the  explanations  you  offer  me 
are  a  proof  of  delicacy  for  which  I  thank  you;  but  these 


20  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

explanations  would  only  delay  us  uselessly,  and  we  have  no 
time  to  lose." 

"  Bravo  !  "  cried  Ra vanne  ;  "  that  is  what  I  call  speaking, 
chevalier.  As  soon  as  we  have  cut  each  other's  throats,  I 
hope  you  will  grant  me  your  friendship,  I  have  heard  you 
much  spoken  of  in  good  quarters,  and  have  long  wished  to 
make  your  acquaintance." 

"Come,  come,  Ravanne, "  said  Fargy,  "since  you  have 
undertaken  to  be  our  guide,  show  us  the  way." 

Ravanne  sprang  into  the  wood  like  a  young  fawn;  his 
five  companions  followed.  At  the  end  of  about  ten  min- 
utes' walking,  during  which  the  six  adversaries  had  main- 
tained the  most  profound  silence,  either  from  fear  of  being 
heard,  or  from  that  natural  feeling  which  makes  a  man  in 
the  moment  of  danger  reflective  for  a  time,  they  found 
themselves  in  the  midst  of  a  glade,  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  a  screen  of  trees. 

"Well,"  said  Ravanne,  looking  round  him  in  a  satisfied, 
manner,  "what  do  you  say  to  the  locality  ?" 

"  I  say  that  if  you  boast  of  having  discovered  it,  "  said  the 
captain,  "  you  are  a  strange  kind  of  Christopher  Colum- 
bus. If  you  had  told  me  it  was  here  you  were  coming,  I 
could  have  guided  you  with  my  eyes  shut." 

"Well,"  replied  Ravanne,  "we  will  endeavour  that  you 
shall  leave  it  in  the  same  manner." 

"It  is  with  you  that  my  business  lies.  Monsieur  de 
Lafare,"  said  D'Harmental,  throwing  his  hat  on  the 
ground. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  captain  of  the  guards,  fol- 
lowing the  example  of  the  chevalier;  "and  at  the  same 
time  I  know  that  nothing  could  give  me  more  honour  and 
more  pain  than  a  rencontre  with  you,  particularly  for  such 
a  cause." 

D'Harmental  smiled  as  a  man  on  whom  this  flower  of 
politeness  was  not  lost,  but  his  only  answer  was  to  draw 
his  sword. 

"It  appears,   my  dear  baron,"  said  Fargy,    addressing 


THE    MEETING.  21 

himself  to  Valef,  "  that  you  are  on  the  point  of  setting  out 
for  Spain." 

"  I  ought  to  have  left  last  night  ;  and  nothing  less  than  the 
pleasure  I  promised  myself  in  seeing  you  this  morning  would 
have  detained  me  till  now,  so  important  is  my  errand." 

"Diable!  you  distress  me, "said  Fargy,  drawing;  "for  if 
I  should  have  the  misfortune  to  retard  you,  you  are  the 
man  to  bear  me  deadly  malice." 

"Not  at  all.  I  should  know  that  it  was  from  pure  friend- 
ship, my  dear  count,"  replied  Valef;  "so  do  your  best,  I 
beg,  for  I  am  at  your  orders." 

"Come,  then,  monsieur,"  said  Ravanne  to  the  captain, 
who  was  folding  his  coat  neatly,  and  placing  it  by  his  hat, 
"you  see  that  I  am  waiting  for  you." 

"Do  not  be  impatient,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  the  old 
soldier,  continuing  his  preparations  with  the  phlegm  natural 
to  him  ;  ''  one  of  the  most  essential  qualities  in  arms  is  sang- 
froid. I  was  like  you  at  your  age;  but  after  the  third  or 
fo\irth  sword-blow  I  received,  I  understood  that  1  was  on 
the  wrong  road,  and  I  returned  to  the  right  path.  There," 
added  he,  at  last  drawing  his  sword,  which  I  have  said  was 
of  extreme  length. 

"Peste.''"  said  Ravanne,  throwing  a  glance  on  his  adver- 
sary's weapon,  "what  a  charming  implement  you  have 
there!  It  reminds  me  of  the  great  spit  in  my  mother's 
kitchen;  and  I  am  grieved  that  I  did  not  order  the  maître- 
d^ hôtel  to  bring  it  me,  as  a  match  to  yours." 

"Your  mother  is  a  worthy  woman,  and  her  'cuisine  '  is  a 
good  one  ;  I  have  heard  both  spoken  of  with  great  praise, 
monsieur  le  chevalier,"  replied  the  captain,  with  an  almost 
paternal  manner;  "I  should  be  grieved  to  take  you  from 
one  or  the  other  for  a  trifle  like  that  which  procures  me 
the  honour  of  crossing  swords  with  you.  Suppose,  then, 
that  you  are  only  taking  a  lesson  from  your  fencing-master, 
and  keep  the  distance." 

The  recommendation  was  useless.  Ravanne  was  exas- 
perated by  his  adversary's  calmness,  to  which,  in  spite  of 


22  THE    CHEVALIER    l)'lIAl?MKNTAL. 

his  courage,  his  young  and  ardent  blood  did  not  allow  him 
to  attain.  He  attacked  the  captain  with  such  fury  that 
their  swords  engaged  at  the  hilt.  The  captain  made  a  step 
back. 

"Ah!  you  give  ground,  my  tall  friend." 

"To  give  ground  is  not  to  fly,  my  little  chevalier," 
replied  the  captain;  "it  is  an  axiom  of  the  art  which  I 
advise  you  to  consider;  besides,  I  am  not  sorry  to  study 
your  play.  Ah!  you  are  a  pupil  of  Berthelot,  apparently; 
he  is  a  good  master,  but  he  has  one  great  fault;  it  is  not 
teaching  to  parry.  Stay,  look  at  this,"  continued  he,  reply- 
ing by  a  thrust  e?i  seconde  to  a  straight  thrust;  "if  I  had 
lunged,  I  should  have  spitted  you  like  a  lark." 

Ravanne  was  furious,  for  he  had  felt  on  his  breast  the 
point  of  his  adversary's  sword,  but  so  lightly  that  he  might 
have  taken  it  for  the  button  of  a  foil.  His  anger  redoubled 
at  the  conviction  that  he  owed  his  life  to  the  captain,  and 
his  attacks  became  more  numerous  and  more  furious  than 
ever. 

"Stop,  stop!"  said  the  captain;  "now  you  are  going 
crazy,  and  trying  to  blind  me.  Fie!  fie!  young  man;  at  the 
chest,  morbleu  !  Ah!  at  the  face  again?  you  will  force  me 
to  disarm  you.  Again?  Go  and  pick  up  your  sword, 
young  man;  and  come  back  hopping  on  one  leg  to  calm 
yourself." 

And  with  a  sudden  twist  he  whipped  Ravanne's  sword 
out  of  his  hand  and  sent  it  flying  some  tv/enty  paces  from 
him.  This  time  Ravanne  profited  by  the  advice.  He 
went  slowly  to  pick  up  his  sword,  and  came  back  quietly 
to  the  captain;  but  the  young  man  was  as  pale  as  his  satin 
vest,  on  which  was  apparent  a  small  drop  of  blood. 

"You  are  right,  captain,"  said  he,  "and  I  am  still  but  a 
child;  but  this  meeting  will,  I  hope,  help  to  make  a  man 
of  me.  Some  passes  more,  if  you  please,  that  it  may  not 
be  said  you  have  had  all  the  honours." 

And  he  put  himself  on  guard.  The  captain  was  right; 
the  chevalier  only  required  to  be  calm  to  make  him  a  for- 


THE   MEETING.  23 

miJable  adversary;  thus  at  the  first  thrust  of  this  third 
engagement  he  saw  that  he  must  attend  solely  to  his  own 
defence;  but  his  superiority  in  the  art  of  fencing  was  too 
decided  for  his  young  adversary  to  obtain  any  advantage 
over  him.  The  matter  ended  as  it  was  easy  to  foresee. 
The  captain  disarmed  Kavanne  a  second  time;  but  this 
time  he  went  and  picked  up  the  sword  himself,  and  with 
a  politeness  of  which  at  lirst  one  might  have  supposed  him 
incapable. 

"Monsieur  le  chevalier,"  said  he,  extending  his  hand  to 
Ravanne,  "  you  are  a  brave  young  man  ;  but  believe  in  an 
old  frequenter  of  schools  and  taverns,  vi^ho  was  at  the 
Flemish  wars  before  you  were  born,  at  the  Italian  wheu 
you  were  in  your  cradle,  and  at  the  Spanish  whilst  you 
were  a  page  ;  change  your  master.  Leave  Berthelot,  who 
has  already  taught  you  all  he  knows,  and  take  Bois-Robert; 
and  may  the  devil  fly  away  with  me  if  in  six  months  you 
are  not  as  good  a  fencer  as  myself." 

"  Thanks  for  your  lesson,  "  said  Ravanne,  taking  the  hand 
of  the  captain,  while  two  tears,  which  he  could  not 
restrain,  flowed  down  his  cheeks;  "I  hope  it  will  profit 
me." 

And,  receiving  his  sword,  he  did  what  the  captain  had 
already  done,  —  sheathed  it.  They  then  both  cast  their  eyes 
on  their  companions  to  see  how  things  were  going.  The 
combat  was  over.  Lafare  was  seated  on  the  ground,  with 
his  back  leaning  against  a  tree;  he  had  been  run  through 
the  body,  but  happily  the  point  of  the  sword  had  struck 
against  a  rib,  and  had  glanced  along  the  bone,  so  that  the 
wound  seemed  at  first  worse  than  it  really  was;  still  he 
had  fainted,  —  the  shock  had  been  so  violent.  D'Har- 
mental  was  on  his  knees  before  him,  endeavoring  to  stanch 
the  blood  with  his  handkerchief.  Fargy  and  Valef  had 
wounded  each  other  at  the  same  moment.  One  was  struck 
in  the  thigh,  the  other  run  through  the  arm;  both  had 
apologised,  promising  to  be  friends  for  the  future. 

"Look,  young  man,"  said  the  captain,  showing  Ravanne, 


24  THE    CHEVALIER   D'n.VRMENTAL. 

these  different  episodes  of  the  field  of  battle.  "Look  on 
that,  and  meditate.  There  is  the  blood  of  three  brave 
gentlemen  flowing,  — probably  for  a  folly." 

"Faith,  captain,"  answered  Kavanne,  qnite  calmed  dov.^n, 
"  I  believe  you  are  right,  and  that  you  are  the  only  one  of 
us  all  that  has  got  common-sense." 

At  that  moment  Lafare  opened  his  eyes,  and  recognised 
D'Harmental  in  the  man  who  was  tending  him. 

"Chevalier,"  said  he,  "take  a  friend's  advice;  send  me 
a  kind  of  surgeon  whom  you  will  fmd  in  the  carriage,  and 
whom  I  brought  with  me  in  case  of  accident.  Then  gain 
Paris  as  fast  as  possible.  Show  yourself  to-night  at  the 
opera  ball,  and  if  they  ask  you  about  me,  say  that  it  is  a 
week  since  you  have  seen  me.  As  to  me,  you  may  be 
quite  easy.  Your  name  shall  not  pass  my  lips;  and  if  you 
get  into  any  unpleasant  discussion  with  the  police,  let  me 
know  at  once,  and  we  will  manage  so  that  the  affair  shall 
have  no  consequences." 

"Thanks,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  answered  D'Harmental, 
"I  quit  you,  because  I  leave  you  in  better  hands  tlian  mine; 
otherwise,  believe  me,  nothing  should  have  separated  me 
from  you  until  I  had  seen  you  in  your  bed." 

"Pleasant  journey,  my  dear  Valef,"  said  Fargy,  "for  I 
do  not  think  that  scratch  will  hinder  your  going.  On  your 
return,  do  not  forget  that  you  have  a  friend  at  No.  14 
Place  Louis-le-Grand." 

"  And  you,  my  dear  Fargy,  if  you  have  any  commission 
for  Madrid,  you  have  but  to  say  so,  and  you  may  rely  upon 
its  being  executed  with  the  exactitude  and  zeal  of  a  true 
comrade." 

And  the  two  friends  shook  hands  as  if  nothing  had 
passed. 

"Adieu,  young  man,  adieu,"  said  the  captain  to  Ravanne; 
"do  not  forget  the  advice  which  I  have  given  you.  Give 
up  Berthelot,  and  take  to  Bois-Robert.  Be  calm,  —  give 
ground  when  it  is  necessary,  —  parry  in  time,  and  you  will 
be  one  of  the  best  fencers  in  the  kingdom  of  France.     My 


THE    MEETING,  25 

implement  sends  its  compliments  to  your  mother's  great 
spit." 

Ravanne,  in  spite  of  his  presence  of  mind,  could  not 
find  anything  to  reply  to  the  captain  ;  so  he  contented  him- 
self with  bowing  and  going  up  to  Lafare,  who  appeared  to 
be  the  most  seriously  wounded. 

As  to  D'Harmental,  Valef,  and  the  captain,  they  rapidly 
gained  the  path,  where  they  found  the  coach,  and  inside, 
the  surgeon,  who  was  enjoying  a  nap,  D'Harmental  woke 
him;  and  showing  him  the  way  he  must  go,  told  him  that 
the  Marquis  de  Lafare  and  the  Comte  de  Fargy  had  need  of 
his  services.  He  also  ordered  his  valet  to  dismount  and 
follow  the  surgeon  in  order  to  aid  him;  then,  turning 
towards  the  captain,  — 

"Captain,"  said  he,  "I  do  not  think  that  it  would  be 
prudent  to  go  and  eat  the  breakfast  which  we  have  ordered  ; 
therefore  receive  my  thanks  for  the  assistance  you  have 
rendered  me,  and  in  remembrance  of  me,  as  it  seems  yon 
are  on  foot,  will  you  accept  one  of  my  two  horses  ?  You  can 
take  one  by  chance  ;  they  are  both  good,  and  neither  will 
fail  you  if  you  have  need  to  go  eight  or  ten  leagues  in  the 
hour." 

"Faith,  chevalier,"  answered  the  captain,  casting  a  look 
on  the  horse  which  had  been  so  generously  offered  to  him, 
"there  was  no  need  for  that.  Their  blood  and  their  purses 
are  things  which  gentlemen  lend  each  other  every  day;  but 
you  make  the  offer  with  so  good  a  grace  that  I  know  not 
how  to  refuse  you.  If  you  ever  have  need  of  me,  for  any- 
thing whatever,  remember  that  I  am  at  your  service." 

"If  that  case  should  occur,  where  should  I  find  you, 
monsieur?"  said  D'Harmental,  smiling. 

"I  have  no  fixed  residence,  chevalier,  but  you  may 
always  hear  of  me  by  going  to  La  Fillon's  and  asking  for 
La  Normande,  and  inquiring  of  her  for  Captain  Roque- 
finette." 

And  as  the  two  young  men  mounted  their  horses,  the 
captain  did  the  same,  not  without  remarking  to  himself 
that   D'Harmental   had   left   him  the  best  of  the    three. 


26  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL 

Then,  as  they  were  near  a  four-cross  road,  eacli  one  took 
his  own  way  at  a  gallop. 

The  Baron  de  Valef  re-entered  by  the  Barrière  de  Passy, 
and  returned  straight  to  the  arsenal  to  receive  the  commis- 
sions of  the  Uuchesse  du  Maine,  to  whose  establishment 
he  belonged,  and  left  the  same  day  for  Spain. 

Captain  Roquefinette  made  two  or  three  tours  round  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  walking,  trotting,  and  galloping,  in 
order  to  appreciate  the  different  qualities  of  his  horse;  and 
having  satisfied  himself  that  it  was,  as  the  chevalier  had 
told  him,  a  fine  and  pure-blooded  animal,  he  returned  to 
Durand's  hotel,  where  he  ate,  all  alone,  the  breakfast 
which  had  been  ordered  for  three.  The  same  day  he  took 
his  horse  to  a  dealer  and  sold  it  for  sixty  louis.  It  was 
about  half  what  it  was  worth;  but  one  must  be  prepared 
to  make  sacrifices,  if  one  wishes  to  realise  promptly. 

As  to  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental,  he  took  the  road  to  La 
IVIuette,  entered  Paris  by  the  great  avenue  of  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  on  returning  to  his  home  in  the  Rue  de 
Richelieu,  found  two  letters  waiting  for  him.  One  of 
these  letters  was  in  a  handwriting  so  well  known  to  him 
that  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  he  looked  at  it,  and 
after  having  taken  it  up  with  as  much  hesitation  as  if  it 
had  been  a  burning  coal,  he  opened  it  with  a  hand  whose 
shaking  betrayed  the  importance  he  attached  to  it.  Tt 
read  as  follows  :  — 

My  dear  Chevalier, — No  one  is  master  of  his  own  heart 
—  you  know  that;  and  it  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  our  nature  not 
to  be  able  to  love  the  same  person,  or  the  same  thing,  long  at  a  time. 
As  to  myself,  I  wish  at  least  to  have,  beyond  other  women,  the  merit 
of  never  deceiving  the  man  who  has  been  my  lover.  Do  not  come, 
then,  at  your  accustomed  hour,  for  you  will  be  told  that  I  am  not 
at  home  ;  and  I  am  so  scrupulous  that  I  would  not  willingly  endanger 
the  soul  even  of  a  valet  or  a  waiting-maid  by  making  them  tell  so 
great  a  lie. 

Adieu,  my  dear  chevalier.  Do  not  retain  too  unkind  a  remem- 
brance of  me,  and  behave  so  that  ten  years  hence  I  may  still  think 
what  I  think  now,  —  that  is  to  say,  that  you  are  one  of  the  noblest 
gentlemen  in  France.  Soi'Hie  d'Averne. 


THE    MEETING.  27 

"Mon  Dieu!''''  cried  D'Harmental,  striking  his  fist  on  a 
beautiful  buhl  table,  wliich  he  smashed  to  bits,  "  if  I  have 
killed  that  poor  Lafare  I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

After  this  outburst,  which  comforted  him  a  little,  the 
poor  fellow  began  to  walk  backward  and  forward  between 
the  door  and  the  window  in  a  manner  that  showed  that  he 
still  wanted  more  deceptions  of  the  same  sort  in  order  to 
arrive  at  the  perfection  of  moral  philosophy  which  the 
faithless  beauty  preached  to  him.  Then,  after  two  or 
three  turns,  he  saw  the  other  letter,  which  he  had  entirely 
forgotten,  lying  on  the  floor.  He  passed  it  once  or  twice, 
looking  at  it  with  a  supreme  indifference.  At  last,  seem- 
ing to  think  that  it  would  make  some  diversion  on  the  first, 
he  picked  it  up  disdainfully,  opened  it  slowly,  looked  at 
the  writing,  which  was  unknown  to  him,  searched  for  the 
signature,  but  there  was  none;  and  then,  led  on  by  the 
mysterious  air  of  it,  he  read  as  follows  :  — 

Chkvahek,  —  If  you  have  in  your  mind  a  quarter  of  the 
romance,  or  in  your  heart  half  the  courage,  that  your  friends  give 
you  credit  for,  some  one  is  ready  to  offer  you  an  enterprise  worthy 
of  you,  and  the  result  of  which  will  be  at  the  same  time  to  avenge 
yon  on  the  man  you  hate  most  in  the  world,  and  to  conduct  you  to  a 
goal  more  brilliant  than  you  can  have  hoped  for  in  your  wildest 
dreams.  The  good  genius  who  will  lead  you  thither  by  an  enchanted 
road,  and  in  whom  you  must  trust  entirely,  will  expect  you  this  even- 
ing at  ten  o'clock  at  the  opera  ball.  If  you  come  there  unmasked, 
he  Avill  come  to  you  ;  if  you  come  masked,  you  will  know  him  by  the 
violet  ribbon  which  he  will  wear  on  his  left  shoulder.  The  watch- 
word is  "  open  sesame  ;  "  speak  boklly,  and  a  cavern  will  open  to  you 
as  wonderful  as  that  of  Ali  Baba. 

"Bravo!"  said  D'Harmental;  "if  the  genius  in  the 
violet  ribbons  keeps  only  half  his  promise,  by  my  honour 
he  has  found  his  man!  " 


28  THE   CHEVALIER  D'IIARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE    CHEVALIER. 


The  Chevalier  Raoul  d'Harmental,  with  whom,  before 
going  further,  it  is  necessary  that  our  readers  make  a 
better  acquaintance,  was  the  last  of  one  of  the  best  fami- 
lies of  Nivernais.  Although  that  family  had  never  played 
an  important  part  in  history,  yet  it  did  not  want  a  certain 
notoriety,  which  it  had  acquired  partly  alone  and  partly 
by  its  alliances.  Thus  the  father  of  the  chevalier,  the 
Sire  Gaston  d'Harmental,  had  come  to  Paris  in  1682,  and 
had  proved  his  genealogical  tree  from  the  year  1399,  an 
heraldic  operation  which  would  have  given  some  trouble 
to  more  than  one  duke  and  peer.  In  another  direction  his 
maternal  uncle,  Monsieur  de  Torigny,  before  being  named 
chevalier  of  the  order  in  the  promotion  of  1694,  had  con- 
fessed, in  order  to  get  his  sixteen  quarterings  recognised, 
that  the  best  part  of  his  scutcheon  was  that  of  the  D'Har- 
mentals,  with  whom  his  ancestors  had  been  allied  for  three 
hundred  years.  Hero,  then,  was  enough  to  satisfy  the 
aristocratic  demands  of  the  ago  of  which  we  write. 

The  chevalier  was  neither  poor  nor  rich,  — that  is  to 
say,  his  father,  when  he  died,  had  left  him  an  estate  in  the 
environs  of  Novers,  which  brought  him  in  from  20,000  to 
25,000  livres  a  year.  This  was  enough  to  live  well  in  the 
country,  but  the  chevalier  had  received  an  excellent  edu- 
cation, and  was  very  ambitious;  therefore  he  had  at  his 
majority,  in  1711,  quitted  his  home  for  Paris.  His  first 
visit  was  to  the  Comte  de  Torigny,  on  whom  he  counted 
to  introduce  him  at  court.  Unfortunately,  at  that  time  the 
Comte  de  Torigny  was  absent  from  home;  but  as  he 
remembered   with   pleasure   the   family  of   D'Harmental. 


THE    CHEVALIER.  29 

he  recommended  his  nephew  to  the  Chevalier  de  Villar- 
ceaux,  who  could  refuse  nothing  to  his  friend,  the  Comte 
de  Torigny,  and  took  the  young  man  to  Madame  de 
i\Iaintenon, 

Madame  de  Maintenon  had  one  good  quality,  —  she  al- 
ways continued  to  be  the  friend  of  her  old  lovers.  She  re- 
ceived the  Chevalier  d'Harmental  graciously,  thanks  to  the 
old  recollections  which  recommended  him  to  her,  and  some 
days  afterward,  the  Maréchal  de  Villars  coming  to  pay  his 
court  to  her,  she  spoke  a  few  such  pressing  words  in  favour 
of  her  young  protege  that  the  maréchal,  delighted  to  find 
an  opportunity  of  obliging  this  queen  in  partlbus,  replied 
that  from  that  hour  he  attached  the  chevalier  to  his  mili- 
tary establishment,  and  would  take  care  to  offer  him  every 
occasion  to  justify  his  august  protectress's  good  opinion 
of  him. 

It  was  a  great  joy  to  the  chevalier  to  see  such  a  door 
opened  to  him.  The  coming  campaign  was  definitive. 
Louis  XIV.  had  arrived  at  the  last  period  of  his  reign,  — 
the  period  of  reverses.  Tallard  and  Marsin  had  been 
beaten  at  Hochstett,  Villeroy  at  Ramilies,  and  Villars 
himself,  the  hero  of  Friedlmgen,  had  lost  the  famous 
battle  of  Malplaquet  against  Marlborough  and  Eugene. 
Europe,  kept  down  for  a  time  by  Colbert  and  Louvois,  rose 
against  France,  and  the  situation  of  affairs  was  desperate. 

The  king,  like  a  despairing  invalid  who  changes  his 
doctor  every  houi*,  changed  ministers  every  day.  Each 
new  attempt  but  revealed  a  new  weakness.  France  could 
not  sustain  war,  and  could  not  obtain  peace.  Vainly  she 
offered  to  abandon  Spain,  and  limit  her  frontier.  This 
was  not  sufficient  humiliation.  They  exacted  that  the  king 
should  allow  the  hostile  armies  to  cross  France,  in  order 
to  chase  his  grandson  from  the  throne  of  Spain  ;  and  also 
that  he  should  give  up,  as  pledges,  Cambray,  Mettray,  La 
Rochelle,  and  Bayonne,  unless  he  preferred  dethroning  him 
himself,  by  open  force,  during  the  following  year. 

These  were  the  conditions  on  which  a  truce  was  granted 


30  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

to  the  conqueror  of  the  plains  of  Senef,  Fleurus,  of  Steere- 
kirk,  and  of  La  Marsalle  ;  to  him  who  had  hitherto  held  in 
the  folds  of  his  royal  mantle  peace  and  war;  to  him  who 
called  himself  the  distributer  of  crowns,  the  ehastiser  of 
nations,  the  great,  the  immortal;  to  him  in  whose  honour, 
during  the  last  half-century,  marbles  had  been  sculptured, 
bronzes  cast,  sonnets  written,  and  incense  poured. 

Louis  XIV.  had  wept  in  the  full  council.  These  tears 
had  produced  an  army,  which  was  intrusted  to  Villars. 

Vi liars  marched  straight  to  the  enemy,  whose  camp  was 
at  Deuain,  and  who  slept  in  security  while  watching  the 
agony  of  France.  Never  had  greater  responsibility  rested 
on  one  head.  On  one  blow  of  Villars  hung  the  salvation 
of  France.  The  allies  had  established  a  line  of  fortifica- 
tions between  Denain  and  Marchiennes,  which,  in  their 
pride  of  anticipation,  Albemarle  and  Eugene  called  the 
grand  route  to  Paris. 

Villars  resolved  to  take  Denain  by  surprise,  and,  Albe- 
marle conquered,  to  conquer  Eugene,  In  order  to  succeed 
in  this  audacious  enterprise,  it  was  necessary  to  deceive, 
not  only  the  enemy's  army,  but  also  his  own,  the  success 
of  this  coup  de  main  being  in  its  impossibility. 

Villars  proclaimed  aloud  his  intention  of  forcing  the 
lines  of  Landrecies.  One  night,  at  an  appointed  hour, 
the  whole  army  moves  off  in  the  direction  of  that  town. 
All  at  once  the  order  is  given  to  bear  to  the  left.  His 
genius  throws  three  bridges  over  the  Scheldt.  Villars 
passes  over  the  river  without  obstacle,  throws  himself  into 
the  marshes,  considered  impracticable,  and  where  the  sol- 
dier advances  with  the  water  up  to  his  waist;  marches 
straight  to  the  first  redoubts  ;  takes  them  almost  without 
striking  a  blow;  seizes  successively  a  league  of  fortifica- 
tions; reaches  Denain;  crosses  the  fosse  which  surrounds 
it,  penetrates  into  the  town,  and  on  arriving  at  the  place, 
finds  his  young  protege,  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental,  who 
presents  to  him  the  sword  of  Albemarle,  whom  he  has  just 
taken  prisoner. 


THE    CHEVALIER.  31 

At  this  moment  the  arrival  of  Eugene  is  announced. 
Villars  returns,  reaches,  before  him,  the  bridge  over  which 
he  must  pass,  takes  possession  of  it,  and  awaits  him. 
There  the  true  combat  takes  place,  for  tlie  taking  of  Denain 
had  been  but  a  short  skirmish.  Eugene  makes  attack  after 
attack,  returns  seven  times  to  the  head  of  the  bridge,  his 
best  troops  being  destroyed  by  the  artillery  which  protects 
it,  and  the  bayonets  which  defend  it.  At  length,  his 
clothes  riddled  with  balls,  and  bleeding  from  two  wounds, 
he  mounts  his  third  horse,  and  the  conqueror  of  Hochstett 
and  Malplaquet  retreats  crying  with  rage,  and  biting  his 
gloves  with  fury.  In  six  hours  the  aspect  of  things  has 
changed.  France  is  saved,  and  Louis  XIV.  is  still  Le 
Grand  Roi. 

D'Harmental  had  conducted  himself  like  a  man  who 
wished  to  gain  his  spurs  at  once.  Villars,  seeing  him 
covered  with  blood  and  dust,  recalled  to  his  mind  by  whom 
he  had  been  recommended  to  him;  made  him  draw  near, 
while,  in  the  midst  of  the  field  of  battle,  he  wrote  on  a 
drum  the  result  of  the  day. 

"Are  you  wounded  ?"  asked  he. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Maréchal,  but  so  slightly  that  it  is 
not  worth  speaking  of." 

"  Have  you  the  strength  to  ride  sixty  leagues,  without 
resting  an  hour,  a  minute,  a  second  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  strength  for  anything  that  will  serve  the 
king  or  you." 

"  Then  set  out  instantly  ;  go  to  Madame  de  Maintenon  ; 
tell  her  from  me  what  you  have  seen,  and  announce  to  her 
the  courier  who  will  bring  the  official  account.'' 

D'Harmental  understood  the  importance  of  the  mission 
with  which  he  was  charged,  and  bleeding  and  dusty  as  he 
was,  he  mounted  a  fresh  horse  and  gained  the  first  stage. 
Twelve  hours  afterward  he  was  at  Versailles. 

Villars  had  foreseen  what  would  happen.  At  the  first 
words  which  fell  from  the  mouth  of  the  chevalier,  Madame 
de  Maintenon  took  him  by  the  baud,  and  conducted  him 


32  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

to  the  king.  The  king  was  at  work  with  Voisin,  but, 
contrary  to  liis  habit,  in  his  room,  for  he  was  a  little 
indisposed. 

Madame  de  Maintenon  opened  the  door,  pushed  D'Har- 
niental  to  the  feet  of  the  king,  and  raising  lier  hands  to 
heaven, — 

"Sire,"  said  she,  "give  thanks  to  God,  for  your  majesty 
knows  we  are  nothing  by  ourselves,  and  it  is  from  him 
comes  every  blessing." 

"What  has  happened,  monsieur  ?  Speak,"  said  the  king 
quickly,  astonished  to  see  this  young  man,  whom  he  did 
not  know,  at  his  feet. 

"Sire,"  replied  the  chevalier,  "the  camp  at  Denain  is 
taken.  Albemarle  is  a  prisoner.  Prince  Eugene  has 
taken  flight;  and  the  Maréchal  de  Villars  places  his  vic- 
tory at  your  Majesty's  feet." 

Louis  XIV.  turned  pale,  in  spite  of  his  command  over 
himself.  He  felt  his  limbs  fail  him,  and  leaned  against 
the  table  for  support. 

"  What  ails  you,  sire  ?  "  said  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
hastening  to  him. 

"It  is,  madame,  that  I  owe  you  everything,"  said  Louis 
XIV.;  "you  save  the  king,  and  your  friends  save  the 
kingdom." 

Madame  de  Maintenon  bowed  and  kissed  the  king's  hand 
respectfully. 

Then  Louis  XIV.,  still  pale  and  much  moved,  passed 
behind  the  great  curtain  which  hid  the  alcove  containing 
his  bed,  and  they  heard  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving.  He  then 
reappeared,  grave  and  calm,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"And  now,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "tell  me  the  details." 

D'Harmental  gave  an  account  of  that  marvellous  battle, 
which  came  as  by  a  miracle  to  save  the  monarchy;  then, 
when  he  had  finished, — 

"  And  have  you  nothing  to  tell  of  yourself  ?  "  asked  Louis 
XIV.  ■'  If  I  may  judge  by  the  blood  and  dust  with  which 
you  are  yet  covered,  you  did  not  remain  idle." 


THE    CHEVALIER.  33 

"Sire,  I  did  my  best,"  said  D'Harmental,  bowing;  "but 
if  ttiere  is  really  anything  to  tell,  I  v/ill,  with  your  per- 
mission, leave  it  to  the  Maréchal  de  Villars." 

"It  is  well,  young  man;  and  if  he  forgets  you  by  chance, 
we  shall  remember.  You  must  be  fatigued.  Go  and  rest. 
I  am  pleased  with  you." 

D'Harmental  retired  joyously,  Madame  de  Maintenon 
conducting  him  to  the  door;  he  kissed  her  hand  again,  and 
hastened  tn  profit  by  the  royal  permission.  For  twenty 
hours  he  had  neither  eaten,  drunk,  nor  slept.  On  his 
awaking,  they  gave  him  a  packet  which  had  been  brought 
from  the  minister  of  war.     It  was  his  brevet  as  colonel. 

Two  months  afterward  peace  was  made.  Spain  gave  up 
half  its  monarchy,  but  France  remained  intact.  Louis 
XIV.  died.  Two  distinct  and  irreconcilable  parties  were 
in  existence,  —  that  of  the  bastards,  centring  in  the  Due 
du  Maine,  and  that  of  the  legitimate  princes,  represented 
by  the  Due  d'Orléans.  If  the  Due  du  Maine  had  had  the 
will,  the  perseverance,  the  courage,  of  his  wife,  Louise 
Bénédicte  de  Condé,  perhaps,  supported  as  he  was  by  the 
royal  will,  he  might  have  triumphed;  but  he  had  to  defend 
himself  in  broad  day,  as  he  was  attacked  ;  and  the  Due  du 
Maine,  weak  in  mind  and  heart,  dangerous  only  because 
he  was  a  coward,  was  only  good  at  underhand  deeds. 

He  was  threatened  openly,  and  his  numerous  artifices 
and  wiles  were  of  no  use  to  him.  In  one  day,  and  almost 
without  a  struggle,  he  was  precipitated  from  that  height 
to  which  he  had  been  raised  by  the  blind  love  of  the  old 
king.  His  fall  was  heavy,  and  above  all  disgraceful;  he 
retired  mutilated,  abandoning  the  regency  to  his  rival, 
and  only  preserving,  out  of  all  the  favors  accumulated  upon 
him,  the  superintendence  of  the  royal  education,  the  com- 
mand of  the  artillery,  and  the  precedence  over  the  dukes 
and  peers. 

The  decree  which  had  just  passed  the  Parliament  struck 
the  old  court  and  all  attached  to  it.  Letellier  did  not  wait 
to  be  exiled.     Madame  de  Maintenon  took  refuge  at  St. 

3 


34  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

Cyr,  and  Monsieur  le  Duc  du  Maine  shut  himself  up  in 
the  beautiful  town  of  Sceaux,  to  finish  his  translation  of 
Lucretius. 

The  Chevalier  D'Harmental  saw,  as  a  passive  spectator, 
these  different  intrigues,  waiting  till  they  should  assume  a 
character  which  would  permit  him  to  take  part  in  them, 
if  there  had  been  an  open  and  armed  contest,  he  would 
have  taken  that  side  to  which  gratitude  called  him.  Too 
young  and  too  chaste,  if  we  may  say  so,  in  politics,  to 
turn  with  the  wind  of  fortune,  he  remained  faithful  to  the 
memory  of  the  old  king,  and  to  the  ruins  of  the  old  court. 

His  absence  from  the  Palais  lioyal,  round  which  hovered 
all  those  who  wished  to  take  a  place  in  the  political  sky, 
was  interpreted  as  opposition  ;  and  one  morning,  as  he  had 
received  the  brevet  which  gave  him  a  regiment,  he  received 
the  decree  which  took  it  from  him. 

D'Harmental  had  the  ambition  of  liis  age.  The  only 
career  open  to  a  gentleman  was  that  of  arms.  His  début 
had  been  brilliant,  and  the  blow  which  at  five-and-twenty 
took  from  him  his  hopes  for  the  future  was  profoundly 
painful. 

He  ran  to  Monsieur  de  Villars,  in  whom  he  had  found  so 
warm  a  protector.  The  marshal  received  him  with  the 
coldness  of  a  man  who  not  only  wishes  to  forget  the  past, 
but  also  to  see  it  forgotten. 

D'Harmental  understood  that  the  old  courtier  was  about 
to  change  his  skin,  and  retired  discreetly.  Though  the 
age  was  essentially  that  of  egotism,  the  chevalier's  first 
experience  of  it  was  bitter  to  him;  but  he  was  at  that 
happy  time  of  life  when  a  disappointed  ambition  is  rarely 
a  deep  or  lasting  grief. 

Ambition  is  the  passion  of  those  who  have  no  other,  and 
the  chevalier  had  all  tliose  proper  to  five-and-twenty  years 
of  age;  besides,  the  spirit  of  the  times  did  not  tend  to 
melancholy;  that  is  a  modern  sentiment,  springing  from  the 
overthrow  of  fortunes  and  the  weakness  of  man.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  it  was  rare  to  dream  of  abstract  things. 


THE    CHEVALIER.  35 

or  aspire  to  the  unknown  ;  men  Avent  straight  to  pleasure, 
glory,  or  fortune,  and  all  who  were  handsome,  brave,  or 
intriguing  could  attain  them.  That  was  the  time  when 
people  were  not  ashamed  to  be  happy,  ^"^ow  mind  governs 
matter  so  much  that  men  dare  not  avow  that  they  are 
happy. 

After  the  long  and  sombre  winter  of  Louis  XIV. 's  old 
age,  appeared  all  at  once  the  joyous  and  brilliant  spring  of  a 
young  royalty.  Every  one  basked  in  this  new  sun,  radiant 
and  benevolent,  and  went  about  buzzing  and  careless,  like 
the  bees  and  butterflies  on  the  first  fine  day.  The  Cheva- 
lier d'Harmental  had  retained  his  sadness  for  a  week;  then 
he  mixed  again  in  the  crowd,  and  was  drawn  in  by  the 
whirlpool,  which  tlirew  him  at  the  feet  of  a  pretty  woman. 

For  three  months  he  had  been  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world.  He  had  forgotten  St.  Cyr,  the  Tuileries,  and  the 
Palais  Royal.  He  did  not  know  whetlier  there  was  a 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  a  king,  or  a  regent.  He  only 
knew  that  it  is  sweet  to  live  when  one  is  loved,  and  he  did 
not  see  why  he  should  not  live  and  love  for  ever.  He  was 
still  in  this  dream,  when,  as  we  have  said,  supping  with 
his  friend  the  Baron  de  Valef  at  La  Fillon's,  in  the  Rue 
Saint  Honoré,  he  had  been  all  at  once  brutally  awakened 
by  Lafare.  Lovers  are  often  unpleasantly  awakened, 
and  we  have  seen  that  D'Harmental  was  not  more  patient 
under  it  than  others.  It  was  more  pardonable  in  the 
chevalier,  because  he  thought  he  loved  truly,  and  because  in 
his  juvenile  good  faith  he  thought  nothing  could  replace 
that  love  in  his  heart. 

Thus  Madame  d'Averne's  strange  but  candid  letter, 
instead  of  inspiring  him  with  the  admiration  which  it 
merited  at  that  time,  had  at  first  overwhelmed  him.  It  is 
the  property  of  every  sorrow  which  overtakes  us  to 
reawaken  past  griefs  which  we  believed  dead,  but  which 
were  only  sleeping.  The  soul  has  its  scars  as  well  as  the 
body,  and  they  are  seldom  so  well  healed  but  a  new  wound 
can  reopen  them. 


36  THE   CHEVALIER   D'hARMENTAL. 

D'Harmeutal  again  began  to  feel  ambitious.  The  loss 
of  his  mistress  had  recalled  to  him  the  loss  of  his  regiment. 
It  required  nothing  less  than  the  second  letter,  so  unex- 
pected and  mysterious,  to  divert  him  from  his  grief.  A 
lover  of  our  days  would  have  thrown  it  from  him  with 
disdain,  and  would  have  despised  himself  if  he  had  not 
nursed  his  grief  so  as  to  make  himself  poetically  melan- 
choly for  a  week;  but  a  lover  in  the  regency  was  much 
more  accommodating.  Suicide  was  scarcely  discovered, 
and  if  by  chance  people  fell  into  the  water,  they  did  not 
drown  as  long  as  there  was  the  least  little  straw  to  cling  to. 
D'Harmental  did  not  affect  the  coxcombry  of  sadness.  He 
decided,  sighing,  it  is  true,  that  he  would  go  to  the  opera 
ball;  and  for  a  lover  betrayed  in  so  unforeseen  and  cruel  a 
manner  this  was  something;  but  it  must  be  confessed,  to 
the  shame  of  our  poor  species,  that  he  was  chiefly  led  to 
this  philosophic  determination  by  the  fact  that  the  letter 
was  written  in  a  female  hand. 


A  BAL-MASQUÉ   OF   THE   TERIOD.  —  THE   BAT.  37 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    BAL-MASQUK    OF    THE    PKRIOD.  THE    BAT. 

The  opera  balls  were  then  at  their  height.  It  was  an 
invention  of  the  Chevalier  de  Bullon,  who  only  obtained 
pardon  for  assuming  the  title  of  Prince  d'Auvergne,  nobody 
exactly  knew  why,  by  rendering  this  service  to  the  dissi- 
pated society  of  the  time.  It  was  he  who  had  invented 
the  double  flooring  which  put  the  pit  on  a  level  with  the 
stage;  and  the  regent,  who  highly  appreciated  all  good 
inventions,  had  granted  him  in  recompense  a  pension  of 
two  thousand  livres,  which  was  four  times  what  the  Grand 
Roi  had  given  to  Corneille.  That  beautiful  room,  with  its 
rich  and  grave  architecture,  which  the  Cardinal  de  Riche- 
lieu had  inaugurated  by  his  "Mirame,"  where  Sully  and 
Quinault's  pastorals  had  been  represented,  and  where 
Molière  had  himself  played  his  principal  works,  was  this 
evening  the  rendezvous  of  all  that  was  noble,  rich,  and 
elegant. 

D'Harmental,  from  a  feeling  of  spite,  very  natural  in 
his  situation,  had  taken  particular  pains  with  his  toilet. 
When  he  arrived  the  room  was  already  full,  and  he  had 
an  instant's  fear  that  the  mask  with  the  violet  ribbons 
would  not  find  him,  inasmuch  as  the  unknown  had  neg- 
lected to  assign  a  place  of  meeting,  and  he  congratulated 
himself  on  having  come  unmasked.  This  resolution 
showed  great  confidence  in  the  discretion  of  his  late  adver- 
saries, a  word  from  whom  would  have  sent  him  before  the 
Parliament,  or  at  least  to  the  Bastille.  But  so  much  con- 
fidence had  the  gentlemen  of  that  day  in  each  other's  good 
faith,  that,  after  having  in  the  morning  passed  his  sword 
through  the  body  of  one  of  the  regent's  favourites,  the  chev- 


38  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

alier  caine,  without  hositation,  to  seek  an  adventure  at  the 
Palais  lloyal.  The  first  person  he  saw  there  was  the  young 
Due  de  Richelieu,  whose  name,  adventures,  elegance,  and 
perhaps  indiscretions,  had  already  brought  him  so  much 
into  fashion.  It  was  said  that  two  princesses  of  the  blood 
disputed  his  affections,  which  did  not  prevent  Madame  de 
Nesle  and  Madame  de  Polignac  from  fighting  with  pistols 
for  him,  or  Madame  de  Savran,  Madame  de  Villars,  Madame 
de  Mouchy,  and  Madame  de  Tencin,  from  sharing  his 
heart. 

He  had  just  joined  the  Marquis  de  Canillac,  one  of  the 
regent's  favourites,  whom  on  account  of  the  grave  appear- 
ance he  affected,  his  Highness  called  his  mentor.  Riche- 
lieu began  to  tell  Canillac  a  story,  out  loud  and  with  much 
gesticulation.  The  chevalier  knew  the  duke,  but  not 
enough  to  interrupt  a  conversation;  he  was  going  to  pass, 
vv'hen  the  duke  seized  him  by  the  coat. 

^^Pardieu!^^  he  said,  "my  dear  chevalier,  you  are  not 
de  trop.  I  am  telling  Canillac  an  adventure  which  may  be 
useful  to  him  as  nocturnal  lieutenant  to  the  regent,  and  to 
you,  as  running  the  same  danger  that  T  did.  The  history 
dates  from  to-day,  — a  further  merit,  as  I  have  only  had 
time  to  tell  it  to  about  twenty  people,  so  that  it  is  scarcely 
known.  Spread  it;  you  will  oblige  me,  and  the  regent 
also." 

D'Harmental  frowned.  The  duke  had  chosen  his  time 
badly.  At  this  moment  the  Chevalier  de  Ravanne  passed, 
pursuing  a  masque.  "Ravanne  !  "  cried  Richelieu, 
"Ravanne!  " 

"I  am  not  at  leisure,"  replied  he. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Lafare  is  ?  " 

"He  has  the  migraine." 

"AndFargy  ?" 

" He  has  strained  himself."  And  Ravanne  disappeared 
in  the  crowd,  after  bowing  in  the  most  friendly  manneï 
to  his  adversary  of  the  morning. 

"Well,  and  the  story  ?  "  asked  Canillac. 


A    BAL-MASQUÉ    OF    THE    PERIOD.  —  THE    BAT.  30 

"We  are  coming  to  ib.  Fancy  that  some  time  ago, 
when  I  left  the  Bastille,  where  my  duel  with  Gacé  had 
sent  me,  three  or  four  days  after  my  reappearance,  llafe 
gave  me  a  charming  little  note  from  Madame  de  Parabère, 
inviting  me  to  pass  that  evening  with  her.  You  under- 
stand, chevalier,  that  it  is  not  at  the  moment  of  leaving 
tiie  Bastille  that  one  would  despise  a  rendezvous,  given  by 
the  mistress  of  him  who  holds  the  keys.  No  need  to 
inquire  if  I  was  punctual;  guess  whom  I  found  seated  on 
the  sofa  by  her  side.     I  give  you  a  hundred  guesses." 

"Her  husband,"  said  Canillac. 

"On  the  contrary,  it  was  his  royal  Highness  himself. 
I  was  so  much  the  more  astonished,  as  I  had  been  admitted 
with  some  mystery  ;  nevertheless,  as  you  will  understand, 
I  would  not  allow  myself  to  appear  astonished.  I  assumed 
a  composed  and  modest  air,  like  yours,  Canillac,  and 
saluted  the  marquise  with  such  profound  respect  that  the 
regent  laughed.  I  did  not  expect  this  explosion,  and  was 
a  little  disconcerted.  I  took  a  chair,  but  the  regent  signed 
to  me  to  take  my  place  on  the  sofa.     I  obeyed. 

"  '  My  dear  duke,  '  he  said,  '  we  have  written  to  you  on 
a  serious  affair.  Here  is  this  poor  marchioness,  who,  after 
being  separated  from  her  husband  for  two  years,  is  threat- 
ened with  an  action  by  this  clown,  under  pretext  that  she 
has  a  lover.'  The  marchioness  tried  to  blush,  but  finding 
she  could  not,  covered  her  face  with  her  fan.  *  At  the 
first  word  she  told  me  of  her  position,'  continued  the 
regent,  '  I  sent  for  D'Argenson,  and  asked  him  who  this 
lover  could  be.  ' 

"  *  Oh,  monsieur,  spare  me  !  '  said  the  marchioness.  — 
•  Nonsense,  my  little  duck;  a  little  patience.  Do  you 
know  what  the  lieutenant  of  police  answered  me,  my  dear 
duke  ?  '  —  '  No,  '  said  I,  much  embarrassed.  —  *  He  said  it 
was  either  you  or  I.'  —  'It  is  an  atrocious  calumny,'  I 
cried.  —  *  Don't  be  excited,  the  marchioness  has  confessed 
all.' 

"*  Then,'  I  replied,  '  if  the  marchioness  has  confessed  all, 


40  THE  ciiEVALiKii  d'harmental, 

T  do  not  see  wliat  remains  for  me  to  tell.'  —  'Oh!'  con- 
tinued the  regent,  *  T  do  not  ask  you  for  details.  It  only 
remains  for  us,  as  aocomplices,  to  get  one  another  out  of 
the  scrape.'  —  '  And  what  have  you  to  fear,  monseigneur  ?  ' 
I  asked.  '  I  know  that,  protected  by  your  Highness's  name, 
I  might  brave  all.  What  have  we  to  fear  ?  '  —  '  The  outcry 
of  Farabère,  who  wants  ine  to  make  him  a  duke.' 

'"  Well,  suppose  we  reconcile  them,'  replied  I.  — 
'  Exactly,'  said  his  Highness,  laughing;  *  and  you  have 
liad  the  same  idea,  as  the  marchioness.'  —  '  Par  dieu,  ma- 
dame, that  is  an  honour  for  me.  There  must  be  a  kind  of 
apparent  reconciliation  between  this  tender  couple,  which 
would  prevent  the  marquis  from  incommoding  us  with  the 
scandal  of  an  action.'  —  *  But  the  difficulty,'  objected 
Madame  de  Parabère,  *  is  that  it  is  two  years  since  he  has 
heen  here;  and,  as  he  piques  himself  on  his  jealousy  and 
severity,  what  can  we  say  ?  He  has  made  a  vow  that  if 
any  one  sets  foot  here  during  his  absence,  the  law  shall 
avenge  him.' 

"'  You  see,  Richelieu,  this  becomes  rather  uncomfort- 
able,' added  the  regent.  —  *  Peste  !  It  does  indeed.'  —  '  I 
have  some  means  of  coercion  in  my  hands,  but  they  do  not 
go  so  far  as  to  force  a  husband  to  be  reconciled  to  his 
wife,  and  to  receive  her  at  his  house.'  — '  Well,'  replied  I, 
'  suppose  we  bring  him  here.'  —  '  There  is  the  difficulty.'  — 
*  Wait  a  moment.  May  I  ask  if  Monsieur  de  Parabère  still 
has  a  weakness  for  champagne  and  burgundy  ?  '  —  'I  fear 
so,'  said  the  marchioness.  —  '  Then,  monseigneur,  we  are 
saved.  I  invite  the  marquis  to  supper,  with  a  dozen  of 
mauvais  sujets  and  charming  women.  You  send  Dubois.' 
—  *  What!  Dubois  ?  '  asked  the  regent. 

"'  Certainly;  one  of  us  must  remain  sober.  As  Dubois 
cannot  drink,  he  must  undertake  to  make  the  marquis 
drink;  and  when  everybody  is  under  the  table,  he  can  take 
him  away  from  us  and  do  what  he  likes  with  him.  The 
rest  depends  on  the  coachman.' — 'Did  1  not  tell  you, 
marchioness,'  said  the  regent,  '  that  Richelieu  would  give 


A   BAL-MASQUÉ    OF   THE    PP^RIOD. — THE    BAT.  41 

US  good  advice?  Stop,  duke,' continued  he;  'you  must 
leave  off  wandering  round  certain  palaces;  leave  the  old 
lady  to  die  quietly  at  St.  Cyr,  the  lame  man  to  rhyme  at 
Sceaux,  and  join  yourself  with  us.  I  will  give  you,  in 
my  cabinet,  the  place  of  that  old  fool  D'Axelles;  and 
alîairs  will  not  perhaps  be  injured  by  it.'  —  'I  dare  say,' 
answered  I.  '  The  thing  is  impossible;  I  have  other 
plans.'  —  '  Obstinate  fellow!  '  murmured  the  regent." 

"And  Monsieur  de  Parabère  ?  "  asked  the  Chevalier 
d'Harmental,  curious  to  know  the  end  of  the  story. 

"Oh!  everything  passed  as  we  arranged  it.  Pie  went  to 
sleep  at  my  house,  and  awoke  at  his  wife's.  He  made  a 
great  noise,  but  there  was  no  longer  any  possibility  of  cry- 
ing scandal.  His  carriage  had  stopped  at  his  wife's  hotel, 
and  all  the  servants  saw  him  enter.  He  was  reconciled 
in  spite  of  himself.  If  he  dares  again  to  complain  of  his 
beautiful  wife,  we  will  prove  to  him,  as  clearly  as  possi- 
ble, that  he  adores  her  without  knowing  it;  and  that  she 
is  the  most  innocent  of  women,  —  also  without  his  know- 
ing it." 

"Chevalier!  "  at  this  moment  a  sweet  and  flute-like  voice 
whispered  in  D'Harmental's  ear,  while  a  little  hand 
rested  on  his  arm. 

"You  see  that  I  am  wanted." 

"I  will  let  you  go  on  one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  you  will  tell  my  story  to  this  charming  bat,  charg- 
ing her  to  tell  it  to  all  the  night-birds  of  her  acquaint- 
ance." 

"I  fear,"  said  D'Harmental,  "I  shall  not  have  time." 

"Oh!  so  much  the  better  for  you,"  replied  the  duke, 
freeing  the  chevalier,  whom  till  then  he  had  held  by 
the  coat;  "for  then  you  must  have  something  better  to 
say.'* 

And  he  turned  on  his  heel,  to  take  the  arm  of  a  domino, 
who,  in  passing,  complimented  him  on  his  adventure. 
D'Harmental    threw   a   rapid   glance   on   the    mask   who 


42  THE    CIIKVALIKR    D'iIARMFCNTAL. 

accosted  him,  in  order  to  make  sure  that  it  was  the  one 
with  whom  he  had  a  rendezvous,  and  was  satisfied  on 
seeing  a  violet  ribbon  on  the  left  shoulder.  He  hastened 
to  a  distance  from  Canillac  and  Kichelieu,  in  order  not 
to  be  interrupted  in  a  conversation  which  he  expected  to 
be  highly  interesting. 

The  unknown,  whose  voice  betrayed  her  sex,  was  of 
middle  height,  and  young,  as  far  as  one  could  judge  from 
the  elasticity  of  her  movements.  As  Monsieur  de  Riche- 
lieu had  already  remarked,  she  had  adopted  the  costume 
best  calculated  to  hide  either  graces  or  defects.  She  was 
dressed  as  a  bat,  —  a  costume  niuch  in  vogue,  and  very 
convenient,  from  its  perfect  simplicity,  being  composed 
only  of  two  black  skirts.  The  manner  of  employing 
them  was  at  the  command  of  everybody.  One  was  fas- 
tened, as  usual,  round  the  waist;  the  masked  head  was 
passed  through  the  placket-hole  of  the  other.  The  front  was 
pulled  down  to  make  wings  ;  the  back  raised  to  make  horns. 
You  were  almost  certain  thus  to  puzzle  an  interlocutor, 
who  could  only  recognise  you  by  the  closest  scrutiny. 

The  chevalier  made  all  these  observations  in  less  time 
than  it  has  taken  to  describe  them  ;  but  having  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  person  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  believing 
it  to  be  some  love  intrigue,  he  hesitated  to  speak;  when, 
turning  towards  him,  — 

"Chevalier,"  said  the  mask,  without  disguising  her 
voice,  assuming  that  her  voice  was  unknown  to  him,  "do 
you  know  that  I  am  doubly  grateful  to  you  for  having 
come,  particularly  in  the  state  of  mind  in  which  you  are  ? 
It  is  unfortunate  that  I  cannot  attribute  this  exactitude 
to  anything  but  curiosity." 

"Beautiful  mask!"  answered  D'Harmental,  "did  you 
not  tell  me  in  your  letter  that  you  were  a  good  genius  ? 
Now,  if  really  you  partake  of  a  superior  nature,  the  past, 
the  present,  and  the  future  must  be  known  to  you.  You 
knew,  then,  that  I  should  come;  and,  since  you  knew  it, 
my  coming  ought  not  to  astonish  you." 


A   BAL-MASQUÉ    OF   THE    PEKIOD.  —  THE    BAT.  43 

"Alas!"  replied  the  unknown,  "it  is  easy  to  see  that 
you  are  a  weak  mortal,  and  that  you  are  happy  enough 
never  to  have  raised  yourself  above  your  sphere;  otherwise 
you  would  know  that  if  we,  as  you  say,  know  the  past,  the 
present,  and  the  future,  this  science  is  silent  as  to  what 
regards  ourselves,  and  that  the  things  we  most  desire 
remain  to  us  plunged  in  the  most  dense  obscurity." 

'^Diable!  Monsieur  le  Génie,"  answered  D'Harmental, 
"do  you  know  that  you  will  make  me  very  vain  if  you 
continue  in  that  tone;  for,  take  care,  you  have  told  me, 
or  nearly  so,  that  you  had  a.  great  desire  that  I  should 
come  to  your  rendezvous." 

"  I  did  not  think  I  was  telling  you  anything  new,  cheva- 
lier. It  appeared  to  me  that  my  letter  would  leave  you  no 
doubt  as  to  the  desire  I  felt  of  seeing  you." 

"This  desire,  which  I  only  admit  because  you  confess  it, 
and  I  am  too  gallant  to  contradict  you,  —  has  it  not  made 
you  promise  in  your  letter  more  than  is  in  your  power  to 
keep  ?  " 

"Make  a  trial  of  my  science;  that  will  give  you  a  test  of 
mj^  power." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  f  I  will  confine  myself  to  the  simplest 
thing.  You  say  you  are  acquainted  with  the  past,  tiie 
present,  and  the  future.     Tell  me  my  fortune." 

"Nothing  easier;  give  me  your  hand." 

D'Harmental  did  what  was  asked  of  him. 

"Sir,"  said  tlie  stranger,  after  a  moment's  examination, 
"  I  see  very  legibly  written  by  the  direction  of  the  *  adducta,  ' 
and  by  the  arrangement  of  the  longitudinal  lines  of  the 
palm,  five  words,  in  which  are  included  the  history  of  your 
life.  These  words  are  courage,  ambition,  disappointment, 
love,  and  treason." 

" Peste  /  "  interrupted  the  chevalier,  "I  did  not  know 
that  the  genii  studied  anatomy  so  deeply,  and  were  obliged 
to  take  their  degrees  like  a  Bachelor  of  Salamanca!  " 

"  Genii  know  all  that  men  know,  and  many  otlier  things 
besides,  chevalier." 


44  THE    CHEVALIER    D'IIARMENTAL. 

"\V^clI,  then,  what  mean  these  words,  at  once  so  sonorous 
and  so  opposite  ?  and  what  do  they  teach  you  of  me  in 
the  past,  my  very  learned  genius  ?  " 

"They  teach  me  that  it  is  by  your  courage  alone  that 
you  gained  the  rank  of  colonel,  which  you  occupied  in 
the  army  in  Flanders;  that  tliis  rank  awakened  your  ambi- 
tion; that  this  ambition  has  been  followed  by  a  disap- 
pointment; that  you  hoped  to  console  yourself  for  this 
disappointment  by  love;  but  that  love,  like  fortune,  is 
subject  to  treachery,  and  that  you  have  been  betrayed." 

"Not  bad,"  said  the  chevalier;  "and  the  Sybil  of  Cuma 
could  not  have  got  out  of  it  better.  A  little  vague,  as  in 
all  horoscopes,  but  a  great  fund  of  truth,  nevertheless. 
Let  us  come  to  the  present,  beautiful  mask." 

"The  present,  chevalier  ?  Let  us  speak  softly  of  it,  for 
it  smells  terribly  of  the  Bastille." 

The  chevalier  started  in  spite  of  himself,  for  he  believed 
that  no  one  except  the  actors  who  had  played  a  part  in  it 
conld  know  his  adventure  of  the  morning. 

"There  are  at  this  hour,"  continued  the  stranger,  "two 
brave  gentlemen  lying  sadly  in  their  beds,  while  we  chat 
gaily  at  the  ball;  and  that  because  a  certain  Chevalier 
d'Harmental,  a  great  listener  at  doors,  did  not  remember 
a  hemistich  of  Virgil." 

"And  what  is  this  hemistich?"  asked  the  chevalier, 
more  and  more  astonished. 

"'  Facilis  descensus  Averni,'  "  said  the  mask,  laughing. 

"My  dear  genius,"  cried  the  chevalier,  trying  to  peep 
through  the  openings  in  the  stranger's  mask,  "  that,  allow 
me  to  inform  you,  is  a  quotation  rather  masculine." 

"Do  you  know  that  genii  are  of  both  sexes  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  had  never  heard  that  they  quoted  the  ^neid 
so  fluently." 

"  Is  not  the  quotation  appropriate  ?  You  speak  to  me  as 
the  Sibyl  of  Cuma;  I  answer  you  in  her  language.  You 
ask  for  existing  things;  I  give  them  you.  But  you  mor- 
tals are  never  satisfied." 


A   BAL-MASQUÊ    OF   THE    PERIOD.  —  THE   BAT.  45 

"No;  for  I  confess  that  this  knowledge  ot  the  past  and 
the  present  inspires  me  with  a  terrible  desire  to  know  the 
future." 

"There  are  always  two  futures,"  said  the  mask;  "there 
is  the  future  of  weak  minds,  and  the  future  of  strong 
minds.  God  has  given  man  free  will  that  he  may  choose. 
Your  future  depends  on  yourself." 

"But  we  must  know  these  two  futures  to  choose  the 
best." 

"  Well,  there  is  one  which  awaits  you  somewhere  in  the 
environs  of  ISTevers,  in  the  depth  of  the  country,  among 
the  rabbits  of  your  warren,  and  the  fowls  of  your  poultry- 
yard.  This  one  will  conduct  you  straight  to  the  magis- 
trate's bench  of  your  parish.  It  is  an  easy  ambition,  and 
you  have  only  to  let  yourself  go  to  attain  it.  You  are  on 
the  road." 

"  And  the  other  ?  "  replied  the  chevalier,  visibly  piqued 
at  the  supposition  that  in  any  case  such  a  future  could  be 
his. 

"The  other,"  said  tbe  stranger,  leaning  her  arm  on  that 
tii  the  young  man,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  him  through  her 
mask,  "the  other  will  throw  you  back  into  noise  and 
light,  —  will  make  you  one  of  the  actors  in  the  game  which 
is  playing  in  the  world,  and,  whether  you  gain  or  lose,  will 
leave  you  at  least  the  renown  of  a  great  player." 

"  If  I  lose,  what  shall  I  lose  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier. 

"Life,  probably." 

The  chevalier  tossed  his  head  contemptuously. 

«And  if  I  win  ?"  added  he. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  the  rank  of  colonel  of  horse,  the 
title  of  Grandee  of  Spain,  and  the  order  of  the  Saint 
Esprit,  without  counting  the  field-marshal's  bâton  in 
prospective  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  the  prize  is  worth  the  stake,  and  that  if  you 
can  prove  to  me  that  you  can  keep  your  promise,  I  am  your 
man." 

"This  proof,"    replied  the   mask,   "must  be  given  you 


46  THE   CHEVALIER   D'IIARMENTAL. 

by  another,  aud  if  you  wish  to  have  it  you  must  follow 
me." 

"Oh!"  said  D'Harmeutal,  "am  I  deceived,  and  are  you 
but  a  genius  of  the  second  order,  —  a  subaltern  spirit,  an 
intermediate  power  ?  Diable  !  this  would  take  away  a 
little  of  my  consideration  for  you." 

"What  does  it  matter  if  I  am  subject  to  some  great 
enchantress,  and  she  has  sent  me  to  you  ?  " 

"I  warn  you  that  I  do  not  treat  with  ambassadors.'* 

"My  mission  is  to  conduct  you  to  her." 

"  Then  I  shall  see  her  ?  " 

"Face  to  face." 

"Let  us  go,  then." 

"  Chevalier,  you  go  quickly  to  the  work  ;  you  forget  that 
before  all  initiations  there  are  certain  indispensable 
ceremonies  to  secure  the  discretion  of  the  initiated." 

"What  must  I  do?" 

"  You  must  allow  your  eyes  to  be  bandaged,  and  let  me 
lead  you  where  I  like.  When  arrived  at  the  door  of  the 
temple,  you  must  take  a  solemn  oath  to  reveal  nothing 
concerning  the  things  you  may  hear,  or  the  people  you 
may  see." 

"I  am  ready  to  swear  by  the  Styx,"  said  D'Harmental, 
laughing. 

"No,  chevalier,"  said  the  mask,  in  a  grave  voice;  "swear 
only  by  your  honour  ;  you  are  known,  and  that  will  sufifice." 

"And  when  I  have  taken  this  oath,"  asked  the  cheva- 
lier, after  an  instant's  reflection,  "will  it  be  permitted  to 
me  to  retire,  if  the  proposals  made  are  not  such  as  a  gen- 
tleman may  entertain  ?" 

"Your  conscience  will  be  your  sole  arbiter,  and  your 
word  the  only  pledge  demanded  of  you." 

"I  am  ready,"  said  the  chevalier. 

"Let  us  go,  then,"  said  the  mask. 

The  chevalier  prepared  to  cross  the  room  in  a  straight 
line  toward  the  door;  but  perceiving  three  of  his  friends, 
who  might  have  stopped  him  on  the  way,  he  made  a  turn. 


A  BAL-MASQUÉ  OF  THE  PEPJOD.  —  THE  BAT.     47 

and  described  a  curve  which  would  bring  him  to  the  same 
end. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  asked  the  mask. 

"I  am  avoiding  some  one  who  might  detain  us." 

"Ah!  "  said  the  mask,  "I  began  to  fear." 

"Fear  what  ?  "  asked  D'Harmental. 

"  To  fear  that  your  ardour  was  diminished  in  the  propor- 
tion of  the  diagonal  to  tlie  two  sides  of  a  square." 

" Pardieu  !  "  said  D'Harmental,  "this  is  the  first  time,  I 
believe,  that  ever  a  rendezvous  was  given  to  a  gentleman 
at  an  opera  ball  to  talk  anatomy,  ancient  literature,  and 
mathematics.  I  am  sorry  to  say  so,  but  you  are  the  most 
pedantic  genius  I  ever  met  in  my  life." 

The  bat  burst  out  laughing,  but  made  no  reply  to  this 
sally,  in  which  was  betrayed  the  spite  of  the  chevalier  at 
not  being  able  to  recognise  a  person  who  appeared  to  be  so 
well  acquainted  with  his  adventures;  but  as  this  only 
added  to  his  curiosity,  both  descended  in  equal  haste,  and 
found  themselves  in  the  vestibule. 

"  What  road  shall  we  take  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier. 
"Shall  we  travel  underground,  or  in  a  car  drawn  by 
griffins  ?  " 

"With  your  permission,  chevalier,  we  will  simply  go  in 
a  carriage;  and  though  you  appear  to  doubt  it,  I  am  a 
woman,  and  rather  afraid  of  the  dark." 

"Permit  me,  then,  to  call  my  carriage,"  said  the 
chevalier. 

"Not  at  all;  I  have  my  own." 

"Call  it,  then." 

"With  your  permission,  chevalier,  we  will  not  be 
more  proud  than  Mahomet  with  the  mountain  ;  and  as  my 
carriage  cannot  come  to  us,  we  will  go  to  it." 

At  these  words  the  bat  drew  the  chevalier  into  the  Rue 
St.  Honoré.  A  carriage  without  armorial  bearings,  with 
two  dark-coloured  horses,  waited  at  the  corner  of  the  street. 
The  coachman  was  on  his  seat,  enveloped  in  a  great  cape 
which   hid   the    lower   part   of   his    face,    while   a  three- 


48  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

cornered  hat  covered  liis  forehead  and  eyes.  A  footman 
held  the  door  open  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  held 
his  handkerchief  so  as  to  conceal  his  face. 

"Get  in,"  said  the  mask, 

D'Harmental  hesitated  a  moment.  The  anxiety  of  the 
servants  to  preserve  their  incognito,  the  carriage  without 
blazon,  the  obscure  place  where  it  was  drawn  up,  and  the 
advanced  hour  of  the  night,  all  inspired  the  chevalier  with 
a  sentiment  of  mistrust;  but  reflecting  that  he  gave  his 
arm  to  a  woman,  and  had  a  sword  by  his  side,  he  got  in 
boldly.  The  mask  sat  down  by  him,  and  the  footman 
closed  the  door. 

"  Well,  are  we  not  going  to  start  ?  "  said  the  chevalier, 
seeing  that  the  carriage  remained  motionless. 

"There  remains  a  little  precaution  to  be  taken,"  said 
the  mask,  drawing  a  silk  handkerchief  from  her  pocket." 

"Ah!  yes,  true,"  said  D'Harmental;  "I  had  forgotten. 
I  give  myself  up  to  you  with  confidence." 

And  he  advanced  his  head.  The  unknown  bandaged 
his  eyes;  then  said,  — 

"  Chevalier,  you  give  me  your  word  of  honour  not  to 
remove  this  bandage  till  I  give  you  permission  ?" 

"I  do." 

"It  is  well." 

Then,  raising  the  glass  in  front,  she  said  to  the  coach- 
man, — 

"You  know  where,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

And  the  carriage  started  at  a  gallop. 


THE   ARSENAL.  49 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE    ARSENAL. 


They  both  maintained  a  profound  silence  during  the  route. 
This  adventure,  wliich  at  first  had  presented  itself  under 
the  appearance  of  an  amorous  intrigue,  had  soon  assumed 
a  graver  aspect,  and  appeared  to  turn  towards  political 
machinations.  If  this  new  aspect  did  not  frighten  the 
chevalier,  at  least  it  gave  him  matter  for  reflection.  There 
is  a  moment  in  the  affairs  of  every  man  which  decides 
upon  his  future.  This  moment,  however  important  it 
may  be,  is  rarely  prepared  by  calculation  or  directed  by 
will.  It  is  almost  always  chance  which  takes  a  man  as  the 
wind  does  a  leaf,  and  throws  him  into  some  new  and 
unknown  path,  where,  once  entered,  he  is  obliged  to  obey 
a  superior  force,  and  where,  while  believing  himself  free, 
he  is  but  the  slave  of  circumstances  and  the  plaything  of 
events. 

It  was  thus  with  the  chevalier.  Interest  and  gratitude 
attached  him  to  the  party  of  the  old  court.  D'Harmental, 
in  consequence,  had  not  calculated  the  good  or  the  harm 
that  Madame  de  Maintenon  had  done  Prance.  He  did  not 
weigh  in  the  balance  of  genealogy  Monsieur  du  Maine  and 
Monsieur  d'Orléans.  He  felt  that  he  must  devote  his  life 
to  those  who  had  raised  him  from  obscurity,  and  knowing 
the  old  king's  will,  regarded  as  a  usurpation  Monsieur 
d'Orléans'  accession  to  the  regency. 

Fully  expecting  an  armed  reaction  against  this  power, 
he  looked  around  for  the  standard  which  he  should  follow. 
Nothing  that  he  expected  happened;  Spain  had  not  even 
protested.  Monsieur  du  Maine,  fatigued  by  his  short  con- 
test, had  retired  into  the  shade.     Monsieur  de  Toulouse, 

4 


50  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

good,  easy,  and  almost  ashamed  of  the  favours  which  haCf 
fallen  to  the  share  of  liimself  and  his  elder  brother,  would 
not  permit  even  the  supposition  that  lie  could  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  a  party.  The  Maréchal  de  Villeroy  had  made 
a  feeble  and  systemless  opposition.  Villars  went  to  no  one, 
but  waited  for  some  one  to  come  to  him.  D'Axelles  had 
changed  sides,  and  had  accepted  the  post  of  secretary  for 
foreign  affairs.  The  dukes  and  peers  took  patience,  and 
paid  court  to  the  regent,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  at  last 
take  away  from  the  Dukes  of  Maine  and  Toulouse  the 
precedence  which  Louis  XIV.  had  given  them. 

Finally,  there  was  discontent  with,  and  even  opposition 
to,  the  government  of  the  Due  d'Orléans,  but  all  impal- 
pable and  disjointed.  This  is  what  D'Harmental  had 
seen,  and  what  had  resheathed  his  half-drawn  sword:  he 
thought  he  was  the  only  one  who  saw  another  issue  to 
affairs,  and  he  gradually  came  to  the  conclusion  that  that 
issue  had  no  existence,  except  in  his  own  imagination,  since 
those  who  should  have  been  most  interested  in  that  result 
seemed  to  regard  it  as  so  impossible  that  they  did  not 
even  attempt  to  attain  to  it. 

Although  the  carriage  had  been  on  the  road  nearly  half 
an  hour,  the  chevalier  had  not  found  it  long;  so  deep  were 
his  reflections  that,  even  if  his  eyes  had  not  been  bandaged, 
he  would  have  been  equally  ignorant  of  what  streets  they 
passed  through. 

At  length  he  heard  the  wheels  rumbling  as  if  they  were 
passing  under  an  arch.  He  heard  the  grating  of  hinges 
as  the  gate  opened  to  admit  him,  and  closed  behind  him, 
and  directly  after,  the  carriage,  having  described  a  semi- 
circle, stopped. 

"Chevalier,"  said  his  guide,  "if  you  have  any  fear, 
there  is  still  time  to  draw  back;  if,  on  the  contrary,  you 
have  not  changed  your  resolution,  come  with  me." 

D'Harmental's  only  answer  was  to  extend  his  hand. 

The  footman  opened  the  door;  the  unknown  got  out 
first,    and   then   assisted   the   chevalier.       His   feet   soon 


THE   ARSKNAL.  51 

encounterea  some  steps  ;  he  mounted  six,  —  still  conducted 
by  the  masked  lady,  —  crossed  a  vestibule,  passed  through 
a  corridor,  and  entered  a  room. 

"  We  are  now  arrived,"  said  the  unknown.  "  You  remem- 
ber our  conditions;  you  are  free  to  accept  or  refuse  a  part 
in  the  piece  about  to  be  played,  but,  in  case  of  a  refusal, 
you  promise  not  to  divulge  anything  you  may  see  or 
hear." 

*'  I  swear  it  on  my  honour,"  replied  the  chevalier. 

"Now  sit  down;  wait  in  this  room,  and  do  not  remove 
the  bandage  till  you  hear  two  o'clock  strike.  You  have 
not  long  to  wait." 

At  these  words  his  conductress  left  him.  Two  o'clock 
soon  struck,  and  the  chevalier  tore  off  the  bandage.  He 
was  alone  in  the  most  marvellous  boudoir  possible  to 
imagine.  It  was  small  and  octagonal,  hung  with  lilac  and 
silver,  with  furniture  and  portières  of  tapestry,  buhl 
tables,  covered  with  splendid  china,  a  Persian  carpet,  and 
the  ceiling  painted  by  Watteau,  who  was  then  coming  into 
fashion.  At  this  sight  the  chevalier  found  it  difficult  to 
believe  that  he  had  been  summoned  on  grave  matters,  and 
almost  returned  to  his  first  ideas. 

At  this  moment  a  door  opened  in  the  tapestry,  and  there 
appeared  a  woman  who,  in  the  fantastic  pre-occupation  of 
his  spirit,  D'Harmental  might  have  taken  for  a  fairy,  so 
slight,  small,  and  delicate  was  her  figure.  She  was 
dressed  in  pearl  gray  satin,  covered  with  bouquets,  so 
beautifully  embroidered  that,  at  a  short  distance,  they 
appeared  like  natural  flowers;  the  flounces,  ruffles,  and 
head-dress  were  of  English  point;  it  was  fastened  with 
pearls  and  diamonds.  Her  face  was  covered  with  a  half- 
mask  of  black  velvet,  from  which  hung  a  deep  black  lace. 
D'Harmental  bowed,  for  there  was  something  royal  in  the 
walk  and  manner  of  this  woman,  which  showed  him  that 
the  other  had  been  only  an  envoy. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "have  I  really,  as  1  begin  to 
believe,  quitted  the  earth  for  the  land  of  spirits,  and  are 


52  THE    CHEVALIER    ij'lIARMENTAL. 

you  the  powerful  fairy  to  whom  this  beautiful  palace 
belongs  ?  " 

"Alas!  chevalier,"  replied  the  masked  lady,  in  a  sweet 
but  decided  voice,  "  I  am  not  a  powerful  fairy,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  a  poor  princess,  persecuted  by  a  wicked  enchanter, 
who  has  taken  from  me  my  crown,  and  oppresses  my  king- 
dom. Thus,  you  see,  I  am  seeking  a  brave  knight  to  de- 
liver me,  and  your  renown  has  led  me  to  address  myself  to 
you." 

"If  my  life  could  restore  you  your  past  power,  ma- 
dame,"  replied  D'Harmental,  "speak;  I  am  ready  to  risk 
it  with  joy.  Who  is  this  enchanter  that  I  must  com- 
bat, this  giant  that  I  must  destroy  ?  Since  you  have 
chosen  me  above  all,  I  will  prove  m^'self  worthy  of  the 
honour.  From  this  moment  I  engage  my  word,  even  if  it 
cost  me  my  life." 

"If  you  lose  your  life,  chevalier,  it  will  be  in  good  com- 
pany," said  the  lady,  untying  her  mask,  and  discovering 
her  face,  "for  you  would  lose  it  with  the  son  of  Louis  XIV., 
and  the  grand-daughter  of  the  great  Conde. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  du  Maine!"  cried  D'Harmental, 
falling  on  one  knee;  "will  your  Highness  pardon  me,  if,  not 
knowing  you,  I  have  said  anything  which  may  fall  short 
of  the  profound  respect  I  feel  for  you." 

"You  have  said  nothing  for  which  I  am  not  proud  and 
grateful,  chevalier,  but  perhaps  you  now  repent.  If  so, 
you  are  at  liberty  to  withdraw." 

"  Heaven  forbid,  madame,  that  having  had  the  honour  to 
engage  my  life  in  the  service  of  so  great  and  noble  a  prin- 
cess, I  should  deprive  myself  of  the  greatest  honour  I  ever 
dared  to  hope  for.  No,  madame;  take  seriously,  I  beg, 
what  I  offered  half  in  jest;  my  arm,  my  sword,  and  my  life." 

"I  see,"  said  the  Duchesse  du  Maine,  with  that  smile 
which  gave  her  such  power  over  all  who  approached  her, 
"that  the  Baron  de  Valef  did  not  deceive  me,  and  you  are 
such  as  he  described.  Come ,  I  will  present  you  to  our 
friends." 


THE    ARSENAL.  53 

The  duchess  went  first,  D'Harmental  followed,  aston- 
ished at  what  had  passed,  but  fully  resolved,  partly  from 
pride,  partly  from  conviction,  not  to  withdraw  a  step. 

The  duchess  conducted  him  to  a  room  where  four  new- 
personages  awaited  him.  These  were  the  Cardinal  de 
Polignac,  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour,  Monsieur  de 
Malezieux,  and  the  Abbé  Brigand. 

The  Cardinal  du  Polignac  was  supposed  to  be  the  lover 
of  Madame  du  Maine.  He  was  a  handsome  prelate,  from 
forty  to  forty-five  years  of  age;  always  dressed  with  the 
greatest  care,  with  an  unctuous  voice,  a  cold  face,  and  a 
timid  heart;  devoured  by  ambition,  which  was  eternally 
combated  by  the  weakness  of  his  character,  which  always 
drew  him  back  where  he  should  advance  ;  of  high  birth,  as 
his  name  indicated,  very  learned  for  a  cardinal,  and  very 
well  informed  for  a  nobleman. 

Monsieur  de  Pompadour  was  a  man  of  from  forty-five  to 
fifty,  who  had  been  a  minion  of  the  dauphin's,  the  son  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  who  had  so  great  a  love  for  his  whole 
family  that,  seeing  with  grief  that  the  regent  was  going 
to  declare  war  against  Philip  V.,  he  had  thrown  himself, 
body  and  soul,  into  the  Due  du  Maine's  party.  Proud  and 
disinterested,  he  had  given  a  rare  example  of  loyalty,  in 
sending  back  to  the  regent  the  brevet  of  his  pensions  and 
those  of  his  wife,  and  in  refusing  for  himself  and  the 
Marquis  de  Courcillon,  his  son-in-law,  every  place  offered 
to  them. 

Monsieur  de  Malezieux  was  a  man  oï  from  sixty  to 
sixty-five,  Chancellor  of  Dombes  and  Lord  of  Chatenay: 
he  owed  this  double  title  to  the  gratitude  of  Monsieur  du 
Maine,  whose  education  he  had  conducted.  A  poet,  a 
musician,  an  author  of  small  comedies,  which  he  played 
himself  with  infinite  spirit;  born  for  an  idle  and  intel- 
lectual life;  always  occupied  in  procuring  pleasure  for 
others,  and  above  all  for  Madame  du  Maine,  whom  he 
adored,  he  was  a  type  of  the  Sybarite  of  the  eighteenth 
century;  but,  like  the  Sybarites  who,  drawn  by  the  aspect 


54  THE    CHEVALIER    d'HAUMENTAL. 

of  beauty,  followed  Cleopatra  to  Actium,  and  were  killed 
around  her,  he  would  have  followed  his  dear  Bénédicte 
through  fire  and  water,  and,  at  a  word  from  her,  would, 
without  hesitation,  and  almost  without  regret,  have  thrown 
himself  from  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame. 

The  Abbé  Brigand  was  the  son  of  a  Lyons  merchant. 
His  father,  who  was  commercially  related  with  the  court 
of  Spain,  was  charged  to  make  overtures,  as  if  on  his  own 
account,  for  the  marriage  of  the  young  Louis  XIV.  with 
the  young  Maria  Theresa  of  Austria.  If  these  overtures 
had  been  badly  received,  the  ministers  of  France  would 
have  disavowed  them;  but  they  were  well  received,  and 
they  supported  them. 

The  marriage  took  place  ;  and,  as  the  little  Brigand  was 
born  about  the  same  time  as  the  dauphin,  he  asked,  in 
recompense,  that  the  king's  sou  should  stand  godfather  to 
his  child,  which  was  granted  to  him.  He  then  made 
acquaintance  with  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour,  who,  as  we 
have  said,  was  one  of  the  pages  of  honour.  When  he  was 
of  an  age  to  decide  on  his  profession,  he  joined  the  Fathers 
of  the  Oratory.  He  was  a  clever  and  an  ambitious  man, 
but,  as  often  happens  to  the  greatest  geniuses,  he  had 
never  had  an  opportunity  of  making  himself  known. 

Some  time  before  the  period  of  which  we  are  writing, 
he  met  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour,  who  was  seeking  a  man 
of  spirit  and  enterprise  as  the  secretary  of  Madame  du 
Maine.  He  told  him  to  what  the  situation  would  expose 
him  at  the  present  time.  Brigand  weighed  for  an  instant 
the  good  and  evil  chances,  and,  as  the  former  appeared  to 
predominate,  he  accepted  it. 

Of  these  four  men,  D'Harmental  only  knew  the  Marquis 
de  Pompadour,  whom  he  had  often  met  at  the  house  of 
Monsieur  de  Courcillou,  his  son-in-law,  a  distant  relation 
of  the  D'Harmentals. 

When  D'Harmental  entered  the  room,  Monsieur  de 
Polignac,  Monsieur  de  Malezieux,  and  Monsieur  de  Pom- 
padour were  standing  talking  at  the  fireplace,  and  the 


THE    ARSENAL.  66 

Abbé  Brigaud  was  seated  at  a  table  classifying  somft 
papers. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  tlie  Duchesse  du  Maine,  "here  is  the 
brave  champion  of  whom  the  Baron  de  Valef  has  spoken 
to  us,  and  who  has  been  brought  here  by  your  dear  De 
Launay,  Monsieur  de  Malezieux.  If  his  name  and  antece- 
dents are  not  sufficient  to  stand  sponsor  for  him,  I  will 
answer  for  him  personally." 

"Presented  thus  by  your  Highness,"  said  Malezieux,  "we 
shall  see  in  him  not  only  a  companion,  but  a  chief,  whom 
wo  are  ready  to  follow  wherever  he  may  lead." 

"My  dear  D'Harmental,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Pompa- 
dour, extending  his  hand  to  him,  "  we  were  already  rela- 
tions; we  are  now  almost  brothers." 

"Welcome,  monsieur!"  said  the  Cardinal  de  Polignac, 
in  the  unctuous  tone  habitual  to  him,  and  which  contrasted 
so  strangely  with  the  coldness  of  his  countenance. 

The  Abbé  Brigaud  raised  his  head  with  a  movement 
resembling  that  of  a  serpent,  and  fixed  on  D'Harmental 
two  little  eyes,  brilliant  as  those  of  the  lynx. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  D'Harmental,  after  having  answered 
each  of  them  by  a  bow,  "  I  am  new  and  strange  amongst 
you,  and,  above  all,  ignorant  of  what  is  passing,  or  in 
what  manner  I  can  serve  you;  but  though  my  word  has 
only  been  engaged  to  you  for  a  few  minutes,  my  devo- 
tion to  your  cause  is  of  many  years'  standing.  I  beg 
you,  therefore,  to  grant  me  the  confidence  so  graciously 
claimed  for  me  by  her  Highness.  All  that  I  shall  ask 
after  that  will  be  a  speedy  occasion  to  prove  myself 
worthy  of  it." 

"Well  said!"  cried  the  Duchesse  du  Maine;  "commend 
me  to  a  soldier  for  going  straight  to  the  point  !  Ko,  Mon- 
sieur d'Harmental,  we  will  have  no  secrets  from  you;  and 
the  opportunity  you  require,  and  which  will  place  each  of 
us  in  our  proper  position  —  " 

"Excuse  me,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  interrupted  the  car- 
dinal, who  was  playing  uneasily  with  his  necktie;  "but, 


56  THE    CHEVALIKK    d'IIARMENTAL. 

from  your  manner,  the  chevalier  will  think  that  the  affair 
is  a  conspiracy.-' 

"And  what  is  it,  then,  cardinal?"  asked  the  duchess, 
impatiently. 

"It  is,"  said  the  cardinal,  "a  council,  secret,  it  is  true, 
but  in  no  degree  reprehensible,  in  Avhich  we  only  seek  a 
means  of  remedying  the  misfortunes  of  the  State,  and 
enlightening  France  on  her  true  interests,  by  recalling  the 
last  will  of  the  king,  Louis  XIV." 

"Stay,  cardinal!"  said  the  duchess,  stamping  her  foot; 
"you  will  kill  me  with  impatience  by  your  circumlocu- 
tions. Chevalier,"  continued  she,  addressing  D'Harmental, 
"do  not  listen  to  his  Eminence,  who  at  this  moment, 
doubtless,  is  thinking  of  his  Lucretius.  If  it  had  been  a 
simple  council,  the  talents  of  his  Eminence  would  soon 
have  extricated  us  from  our  troubles,  without  the  necessity 
of  applying  to  you  ;  but  it  is  a  bona  fide  conspiracy  against 
the  regent,  — a  conspiracy  which  numbers  the  King  of 
Spain,  Cardinal  Alberoni,  the  Due  du  Maine,  myself, 
the  Marquis  de  Pompadour,  Monsieur  de  Malezieux,  l'Abbé 
Brigaud,  Valef,  yourself,  the  cardinal  himself,  the  presi- 
dent; and  which  will  include  half  the  parliament  and  three 
parts  of  France.  This  is  the  matter  in  hand,  chevalier. 
Are  you  content,  cardinal  ?  Have  I  spoken  clearly, 
gentlemen  ?  " 

"Madame,"  murmured  Malezieux,  joining  his  hands 
before  her  with  more  devotion  than  he  would  have  done 
before  the  Virgin. 

"No,  no;  stop,  Malezieux,"  said  the  duchess;  "but  the 
iardinal  enrages  me  with  his  half-measures.  Mon  Dieu  ! 
are  these  eternal  waverings  worthy  of  a  man  ?  For 
myself,  I  do  not  ask  a  sword,  I  do  not  ask  a  dagger;  give 
me  but  a  nail,  and  I,  a  woman,  and  almost  a  dwarf,  will 
go,  like  a  new  Jael,  and  drive  it  into  the  temple  of  this 
other  Sisera.  Then  all  will  be  finished;  and,  if  I  fail,  no 
one  but  myself  will  be  compromised." 

Monsieur  de  Polignac  sighed  deeply;  Pompadour  burst 


THE    ARSENAL.  57 

out  laughing;  Malezieux  tried  to  calm  the  duchess;  and 
Brigaud  bent  his  head,  and  went  on  writing  as  if  he  had 
heard  nothing.  As  to  D'PIarmental,  he  would  have 
kissed  the  hem  of  her  dress,  so  superior  was  this  woman, 
in  his  eyes,  to  the  four  men  who  surrounded  her. 

At  this  moment  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  carriage, 
which  drove  into  the  courtyard  and  stopped  at  the  door. 
The  person  expected  was  doubtless  some  one  of  importance, 
for  there  was  an  instant  silence,  and  the  Duchesse  du 
Maine,  in  her  impatience,  went  herself  to  open  the  door. 

"Well?"  asked  she. 

"He  is  here,"  said  a  voice,  which  D'Harmental  recog- 
nized as  that  of  the  Bat. 

"Enter,  enter,  prince,"  said  the  duchess;  "we  wait  for 
you. 


THE    CHEVALIER   D  HARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER   VT. 

THE    PRINCE    UE    CELLAMARE. 

At  this  invitatiou  there  entered  a  tall,  thin,  grave  man, 
with  a  sunburnt  complexion,  who  at  a  single  glance  took 
in  everything  in  the  room,  animate  and  inanimate.  The 
chevalier  recognised  the  ambassador  of  their  Catholic 
Majesties,  the  Prince  de  Cellamare. 

"Well,  prince,"  asked  the  duchess,  "what  have  you  to 
tell  us  ?  " 

"I  have  to  tell  you,  madame,"  replied  the  prince,  kiss- 
ing her  hand  respectfully,  and  throwing  his  cloak  on  a 
chair,  "that  your  Highness  had  better  change  coachmen. 
I  predict  misfortune  if  you  retain  in  your  service  the  fellow 
who  drove  me  here.  He  seems  to  me  to  be  some  one 
employed  by  the  regent  to  break  the  necks  of  your  High- 
ness and  all  your  companions." 

Every  one  began  to  laugh,  and  particularly  the  coachman 
himself,  who,  without  ceremony,  had  entered  behind  the 
prince;  and  who,  throwing  his  hat  and  cloak  on  a  seat, 
showed  himself  a  man  of  high  bearing,  from  thirty-five  to 
forty  years  old,  with  the  lower  part  of  his  face  hidden 
by  a  black  handkerchief. 

"Do  you  hear,  my  dear  Laval,  what  the  prince  says  of 
you  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Laval;  "it  is  worth  while  to  give  him 
Montmorencies  to  be  treated  like  that.  Ah,  Monsieur  le 
Prince,  the  first  gentlemen  in  France  are  not  good  enough 
for  your  coachmen  !  Peste  !  you  are  difficult  to  please. 
Have  you  many  coachmen  at  Naples  who  date  from  Robert 
the  Strong  ?  " 

"  What  !  is  it  you,  my  dear  count  ?  "  said  the  prince, 
holding  out  his  hand  to  him. 


THE    rrjNCE    DE    CELLAMAKE.  59 

"Myself,  priuce  !  Madame  la  Ducliesse  sent  away  her 
coachman  to  keep  Lent  in  his  own  family,  and  engaged 
me  for  this  night.     She  thought  it  safer." 

"And  Madame  la  Duchesse  did  right,"  said  the  car- 
dinal.    "One  cannot  take  too  many  precautions." 

"Ah,  your  Eminence,"  said  Laval,  "I  should  like  to 
know  if  you  would  be  of  the  same  opinion  after  passing 
half  the  night  on  the  box  of  a  carriage,  first  to  fetch  Mon- 
sieur d'Harmental  from  the  opera  ball,  and  then  to  take 
the  prince  from  the  Hôtel  Colbert." 

"What!"  said  D'Harmental,  "was  it  you,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,  who  had  the  goodness  —  " 

"Yes,  young  man,"  replied  Laval;  "and  I  would  have 
gone  to  the  end  of  the  world  to  bring  you  here,  for  I  know 
you.  You  are  a  gallant  gentleman;  you  were  one  of  the 
first  to  enter  Denain,  and  you  took  Albemarle.  You  were 
fortunate  enough  not  to  leave  half  your  jaw  there,  as  I  did 
in  Italy.  You  were  right,  for  it  would  have  been  a  further 
motive  for  taking  away  your  regiment,  — ■  which  they  have 
done,  however." 

"We  will  restore  you  that  a  hundred-fold,"  said  the 
duchess;  "but  now  let  us  speak  of  Spain.  Prince,  you 
have  news  from  Alberoni,  Pompadour  tells  me." 

"Yes,  your  Highness." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"Both  good  and  bad.  His  Majesty,  Philip  V.,  is  in  one 
of  his  melancholy  moods,  and  will  not  determine  upon 
anything.  He  will  not  believe  in  the  treaty  of  the  quad- 
ruple alliance." 

"Will  not  believe  in  it!"  cried  the  duchess;  "and  the 
treaty  ought  to  be  signed  now.  In  a  week  Dubois  will 
have  brought  it  here." 

"I  know  it,  your  Highness,"  replied  Cellamare,  coldly; 
"but  his  Catholic  Majesty  does  not." 

"  Then  he  abandons  us  ?  " 

"Almost." 

"What  becomes,  then,  of  the  queen's  fine  promises,  and 
the  empire  she  pretends  to  have  over  her  husband  ?  " 


GO  niK    CIIKVALIKK    D'HAKM  KNTAL. 

"She  promises  to  prove  it  to  you,  madame,"  replie(î 
the  prince,  "when  something  is  done." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Cardinal  do  Polignac;  "and  then  she 
will  fail  in  that  promise." 

"No,  your  Emineneo!   I  will  answer  for  her." 

"What  I  see  most  clearly  in  all  this  is,"  said  Laval, 
"that  we  must  compromise  the  king.  Once  compromised, 
he  must  go  on." 

"Now,  then,"  said  Cellamare,  "we  are  coming  to  busi- 
ness." 

"But  how  to  compromise  him,"  asked  the  Duchesse  du 
Maine,  "without  a  letter  from  him,  without  even  a  verbal 
message,  and  at  five  hundred  leagues'  distance  ?  " 

"  Has  he  not  his  representative  at  Paris,  and  is  not  that 
representative  in  your  house  at  this  very  moment, 
madame  ?  " 

"Prince,"  said  the  duchess,  "you  have  more  extended 
powers  than  you  are  willing  to  admit." 

"No;  my  powers  are  limited  to  telling  you  that  the 
citadel  of  Toledo  and  the  fortress  of  Saragossa  are  at  your 
service.  Find  the  means  of  making  the  regent  enter 
there,  and  their  Catholic  Majesties  will  close  the  door  on 
him  so  securely  that  he  will  not  leave  it  again,  I  promise 
you." 

"It  is  impossible,"  said  Monsieur  de  Polignac. 

"Impossible!  and  why?"  cried  D'Harmental.  "On 
the  contrary,  what  is  more  simple  ?  Nothing  is  necessary 
but  eight  or  ten  determined  men,  a  well-closed  carriage, 
and  relays  to  Bayonne." 

"  I  have  already  offered  to  undertake  it,  "  said  Laval. 

"  And  I,  "  said  Pompadour. 

"You  cannot,"  said  the  duchess;  "the  regent  knows 
you;  and  if  the  thing  failed,  you  would  be  lost." 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  Cellamare,  coldly;  "for,  once 
arrived  at  Toledo  or  Saragossa,  there  is  greatness  in  store 
for  him  who  shall  have  succeeded." 

"And  the  blue  ribbon,"  added  Madame  du  Maine,  "on 
his  return  to  Paris." 


THE   PRINCE    DE    CELLAMARE.  61 

"Oh,  silence,  I  beg,  madame,"  said  D'Harmeutal;  "for 
if  your  Highness  says  such  things,  you  give  to  devotion 
the  air  of  ambition,  and  rob  it  of  all  its  merit.  I  was 
going  to  offer  myself  for  the  enterprise,  —  I,  who  am 
unknown  to  the  regent,  — but  now  I  hesitate;  and  yet  I 
venture  to  believe  myself  worthy  of  the  confidence  of 
your  Highness,  and  able  to  justify  it." 

"  What,  chevalier  !  "  cried  the  duchess,  "  you  would 
risk  —  " 

"My  life;  it  is  all  I  have  to  risk.  I  thought  I  had 
already  offered  it,  and  that  your  Highness  had  accepted  it. 
Was  I  mistaken  ?  " 

"No,  no,  chevalier,"  said  the  duchess,  quickly;  "and 
you  are  a  brave  and  loyal  gentleman.  I  have  always 
believed  in  presentiments,  and  from  the  moment  Valef 
pronounced  your  name,  telling  me  that  you  were  what  I 
find  you  to  be,  I  felt  of  what  assistance  you  would  be  to 
us.  Gentlemen,  you  hear  what  the  chevalier  says;  in 
what  can  you  aid  him  ?  " 

"In  whatever  he  may  want,"  said  Laval  and  Pompadour. 

"The  coffers  of  their  Catholic  Majesties  are  at  his  dis- 
posal," said  the  Prince  de  Cellamare,  "and  he  may  make 
free  use  of  them." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  D'Harmental,  turning  towards  the 
Comte  de  Laval  and  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour;  "but, 
known  as  you  are,  you  would  only  make  the  enterprise 
more  difficult.  Occupy  yourselves  only  in  obtaining  for 
me  a  passport  for  Spain,  as  if  I  had  the  charge  of  some 
prisoner  of  importance;  that  ought  to  be  easy." 

"I  undertake  it,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigand.  "Twill  get 
from  D'Argenson  a  paper  all  prepared,  which  will  only 
have  to  be  filled  in." 

"Excellent  Brigaud,"  said  Pompadour;  "he  does  not 
speak  often,  but  he  speaks  to  the  purpose." 

"It  is  he  who  should  be  made  cardinal,"  said  the 
duchess,  "  rather  than  certain  great  lords  of  my  acquaint- 
ance; but  as  soon  as  we  can  dispose  of  the  blue  and  the 


62  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HAKMENTAL. 

red,  be  easy,  gentlemen,  we  shall  not  be  miserl}'  Now, 
chevalier,  you  have  heard  what  the  prince  said.  If  you 
want  money  —  " 

"Unfortunately,"  replied  D'Harmental,  "I  am  not  rich 
enough  to  refuse  his  Excellency's  offer,  and  so  soon  as  I 
have  arrived  at  the  end  of  about  athousand  pistoles,  whicli 
I  have  at  home,  I  must  have  recourse  to  you." 

"To  him,  to  me,  to  us  all,  chevalier;  for  each  one  in 
such  circumstances  should  tax  himself  according  to  his 
means.  I  have  little  ready  money,  but  I  have  many 
diamonds  and  pearls;  therefore  want  for  nothing,  I  beg. 
All  the  world  has  not  your  disinterestedness,  and  there  is 
devotion  which  must  be  bought." 

"Above  all,  be  prudent,"  said  the  cardinal. 

"Do  not  be  uneasy,"  replied  D'Harmental,  contemptu- 
ously. "I  have  svifficient  grounds  of  complaint  against 
the  regent  for  it  to  be  believed,  if  I  were  taken,  that  it 
was  an  affair  between  him  and  me,  and  that  my  vengeance 
was  entirely  personal." 

"But,"  said  the  Comte  de  Laval,  "you  must  have  a  kind 
of  lieutenant  in  this  enterprise,  —  some  one  on  whom  3'ou 
can  count.     Have  you  any  one  ?  " 

"I  think  so,"  replied  D'Harmental;  "but  I  must  be 
informed  each  morning  what  the  regent  will  do  in  the 
evening.  Monsieur  le  Prince  de  Cellamare,  as  ambassador, 
must  have  his  secret  police." 

"Yes,"  said  the  prince,  embarrassed,  "I  have  some 
people  who  give  me  an  account." 

"That  is  exactly  it,"  said  D'Harmental. 

"  Where  do  you  lodge  ?  "  asked  the  cardinal. 

"At  my  own  house,  monseigneur,  Rue  de  Eichelieu, 
No.  74." 

"And  how  long  have  you  lived  there  ?" 

"Three  years." 

"Then  you  are  too  well  known  there,  monsieur;  yon  must 
change  quarters.  The  people  whom  you  receive  are  known, 
and  the  sight  of  strange  faces  would  give  rise  to  questions." 


THE   PRINCE    DE   CELLAM.VRE,  61^ 

"This  time  your  Eminence  is  right,"  said  D'Harmental. 
''  I  will  seek  another  lodging  in  some  retired  neighbourhood.'' 

"I  undertake  it,"  said  Brigaud;  "my  costume  does  not 
excite  suspicions.  I  will  engage  you  a  lodging  as  if  it 
was  destined  for  a  young  man  from  the  country  who  has 
been  recommended  to  me,  and  who  has  come  to  occupy  some 
place  in  an  office." 

"Truly,  my  dear  Brigaud,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Pompa- 
dour, "you  are  like  the  princess  in  the  '  Arabian  Nights,' 
who  never  opened  her  mouth  but  to  drop  pearls." 

"Well,  it  is  a  settled  thing,  Monsieur  l'Abbé,"  said 
D'Harmental;  "I  reckon  on  you,  and  I  shall  announce  at 
home  that  I  am  going  to  leave  Paris  for  a  three  months' 
trip." 

"Everything  is  settled  then,"  said  the  Duchesse  du 
Maine,  joyfully,  "  This  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been 
able  to  see  clearly  into  our  affairs,  chevalier,  and  we  owe  if, 
to  you.     I  shall  not  forget  it." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Malezieux,  pulling  out  his  watch,  "I 
would  observe  that  it  is  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
that  we  shall  kill  our  dear  duchess  with  fatigue." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  the  duchess;  "such  nights 
rest  me,  and  it  is  long  since  I  have  passed  one  so  good." 

"Prince,"  said  Laval,  "you  must  be  contented  with  the 
coachman  whom  you  wished  dischai'ged,  unless  you  would 
prefer  driving  yourself,  or  going  on  foot." 

"  No,  indeed,  "  said  the  prince,  "  I  will  risk  it.  I  am  a 
Neapolitan,  and  believe  in  omens.  If  you  overturn  me  it 
will  be  a  sign  that  we  must  stay  where  we  are;  if  you 
conduct  me  safely  it  will  be  a  sign  that  we  may  go  on." 

"Pompadour,  you  must  take  back  IMonsieur  d'Harmen- 
tal,"  said  the  duchess. 

"Willingly,"  said  the  marquis.  "It  is  a  long  time  since 
we  met,  and  we  have  a  hundred  things  to  say  to  each 
other." 

**  Cannot  I  take  leave  of  my  sprightly  Bat  ?  "  asked 
D'Harmental  ;  "  for  I  do  not  forget  that  it  is  to  her  I  owe 


64  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

the  happiness  of  having  offered  my  services  to  your 
highness." 

"De  Launay,"  cried  the  duchess,  conducting  the  Prince 
of  Cellamare  to  the  door,  "De  Launay,  here  is  Monsieur 
le  Chevalier  d'Harmental,  who  says  you  are  the  greatest 
sorceress  he  has  ever  known." 

"Well!"  said  she  who  has  left  us  such  charming 
memoirs,  under  the  name  of  Madame  de  Staal,  "do  you 
believe  in  my  prophecies  now.  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  ?  " 

"  I  believe,  because  I  hope,"  replied  the  chevalier.  "But 
new  that  I  know  the  fairy  that  sent  you,  it  is  not  your 
predictions  that  astonish  me  the  most.  How  were  you  so 
well  informed  about  the  past,  and,  above  all,  of  the 
present  ? " 

"Well,  De  Launay,  be  kind,  and  do  not  torment  the 
chevalier  any  longer,  or  he  will  believe  us  to  be  two 
witches,  and  be  afraid  of  us." 

"Was  there  not  one  of  your  friends,  chevalier,"  asked 
De  Launay,  "who  left  you  this  morning  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  to  come  and  say  adieu  to  us." 

"Valef!  It  is  Valef!"  cried  D'Harmental.  "I  under- 
stand now." 

"  In  the  place  of  Œdipus  you  would  have  been  devoured 
ten  times  over  by  the  Sphinx." 

"But  the  mathematics;  but  the  anatomy;  but  Virgil  ?  " 
replied  D'Harmental. 

"Do  you  not  know,  chevalier,"  said  Malezieux,  mixing 
in  the  conversation,  "  that  we  never  call  her  anything  here 
but  our  '  savante  '?  —  with  the  exception  of  Chaulieu,  how- 
ever, who  calls  her  his  flirt,  and  his  coquette  ;  but  all  as  a 
poetical  license.  We  let  her  loose  the  other  day  on  Du 
Vernay,  our  doctoi-,  and  she  beat  hira  at  anatomy." 

"And,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour,  taking  D'Har- 
mental's  arm  to  lead  him  away,  "the  good  man  in  his 
disappointment  declared  that  there  was  no  other  girl  in 
France  who  understood  the  human  frame  so  well." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Abbé  Brigand,  folding  his  papers,  "here 


THE   PRINCE    DE    CELLAMARE.  65 

IS  the  first  savant  on  record  who  has  been  known  to  make 
a  bon-mot.     It  is  true  that  he  did  not  intend  it." 

And  D'Harmental  and  Pompadour,  having  taken  leave 
of  the  duchess,  retired  laughing,  followed  by  the  Abbé 
Brigand,  who  reckoned  on  them  to  drive  him  home. 

"Well,"  said  Madame  du  Maine,  addressing  the  Car- 
dinal de  Polignac,  "does  your  eminence  still  find  it  such  a 
terrible  thing  to  conspire  ?" 

"Madame,"  replied  the  cardinal,  who  could  not  under- 
stand that  any  one  could  laugh  when  his  head  was  in 
danger,  "I  will  ask  you  the  same  question  when  we  are 
all  in  the  Bastille." 

And  he  went  away  with  the  good  chancellor,  deploring 
the  ill-luck  which  had  thrown  him  into  such  a  rash 
enterprise. 

The  duchess  looked  after  him  with  a  contempt  which 
she  could  not  disguise;  then,  when  she  was  alone  with  De 
Launay : 

"My  dear  Sophie,"  said  she,  "let  us  put  out  our  lanthorr 
for  I  think  we  have  found  a  man." 


66  THE    CHEVALIKIi   IJ'IIARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ALBERONI. 


When  D'Harmental  awoke,  he  wondered  if  all  had  been 
a  dream.  Events  had,  during  tlie  last  thirty-six  hours, 
succeeded  each  other  with  such  rapidity  that  he  had  been 
carried  away  as  by  a  whirlpool,  without  knowing  where 
he  was  going.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  had  leisure  to 
reflect  on  the  past  and  the  future. 

These  were  times  in  which  every  one  conspired  more  or 
less.  We  know  the  natural  bent  of  the  mind  in  such  a, 
case.  The  first  feeling  we  experience,  after  having  made 
an  engagement  in  a  moment  of  exaltation ,  is  one  almost  of 
regret  for  having  been  so  forward.  Little  by  little  we 
become  familiarised  with  the  idea  of  the  dangers  we  are 
running.  Imagination  removes  them  from  our  sight,  and 
presents  instead  the  ambitions  we  may  realise.  Pride 
soon  becomes  mingled  with  it,  as  we  think  that  we  have 
become  a  secret  power  in  the  State.  We  walk  along 
proudly  with  head  erect,  passing  contemptuously  those  who 
lead  an  ordinary  life;  we  cradle  ourselves  in  our  hopes, 
and  wake  one  morning  conquering.or  conquered,  — carried 
on  the  shoulders  of  the  people,  or  broken  by  the  wheels 
of  that  machine  called  the  government. 

Thus  it  Avas  with  D'Harmentai.  After  a  few  moments' 
reflection,  he  saw  things  under  the  same  aspect  as  he  had 
done  the  day  before,  and  congratulated  himself  upon 
having  taken  the  highest  place  among  such  people  as  the 
Montmorencies  and  the  Polignacs.  His  family  had  trans- 
mitted to  him  much  of  that  adventurous  chivalry  so  much 
in  vogue  under  Louis  XIIL,  and  which  Richelieu  with 
his  scaiïolds,  and  Louis  XIV.  with  his  antechambers,  had 


ALBERONI.  67 

not  quite  "been  able  to  destroy.  There  was  sometliing 
romantic  in  enlisting  himself,  a  young  man,  under  the 
banners  of  a  woman,  and  that  woman  a  granddaughter  of 
the  great  Conde. 

D'Harmental  lost  no  time  in  preparing  to  keep  the  prom- 
ises he  had  made,  for  he  felt  that  the  eyes  of  all  the 
conspirators  were  upon  him,  and  that  on  his  courage  and 
prudence  depended  the  destinies  of  two  kingdoms,  and  the 
politics  of  the  world.  At  this  moment  the  regent  was  the 
keystone  of  the  arch  of  the  European  edifice  ;  and  France 
was  beginning  to  take,  if  not  by  arms,  at  least  by  diplomacy, 
that  influence  which  she  had  unfortunately  not  alwaj's 
preserved.  Placed  at  the  centre  of  the  triangle  formed  by 
the  three  great  Powers,  with  eyes  fixed  on  Germany-,  one 
arm  extended  towards  England,  and  the  other  towards 
Spain,  ready  to  turn  on  either  of  these  three  States  that 
should  not  treat  her  according  to  her  dignit}-,  she  had 
assumed,  under  the  Due  d'Orléans,  an  attitude  of  calm 
strength  which  she  had  never  had  under  Louis  XIV. 

This  arose  from  the  division  of  interests  consequent  on 
the  usurpation  of  William  of  Orange,  and  the  accession  of 
Philip  V.  to  the  throne  of  Spain.  Faithful  to  his  old 
hatred  against  the  stadtholder,  who  had  refused  him  his 
daughter,  Louis  XIV.  had  constantly  advanced  the  preten- 
sions of  James  II.,  and,  after  his  death,  of  the  Chevalier 
de  St.  George.  Faithful  to  his  compact  with  Philip  V.,  he 
had  constantly  aided  his  grandson  against  the  emperor, 
with  men  and  money,  and,  weakened  by  this  double  war, 
he  had  been  reduced  to  the  shameful  treaty  of  Utrecht; 
but  at  the  death  of  the  old  king  all  was  changed,  and  the 
regent  had  adopted  a  very  different  line  of  conduct.  The 
treaty  of  Utrecht  was  only  a  truce,  which  had  been  broken 
from  the  moment  when  England  and  Holland  did  not  pursue 
common  interests  with  those  of  France. 

In  consequence,  the  regent  had  first  of  all  held  out  his 
hand  to  George  I.,  and  the  treaty  of  the  triple  alliance 
had  been  signed  at  La  Haye,  by  Dubois,  in  the  name  of 


68  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HAKMENTAL. 

Frauce;  by  General  Cadogan,  for  England;  and  by  the 
pensioner,  Heinsiens,  for  Holland.  This  was  a  great  step 
towards  the  pacification  of  Europe,  but  the  interests  of 
Austria  and  Spain  were  still  in  suspense.  Charles  VI. 
Would  not  recognise  Philip  V.  as  King  of  Spain-,  and  Philip 
v.,  on  his  part,  would  not  renounce  his  rights  over  those 
provinces  of  the  Spanish  empire  which  the  treaty  of  Utrecht 
had  given  to  the  Emperor. 

It  was  in  the  hopes  of  bringing  these  things  about  that 
the  regent  had  sent  Dubois  to  London,  where  he  was  pur- 
suing the  treaty  of  the  quadruple  alliance  with  as  much 
ardour  as  he  had  that  of  La  Haye.  This  treaty  would  have 
neutralised  the  pretensions  of  the  State  not  approved  by 
the  four  Powers.  This  was  what  was  feared  by  Philip  V. 
(or  rather  the  Cardinal  d'Alberoni). 

It  was  not  thus  with  Alberoni;  his  was  one  of  those 
extraordinary  fortunes  which  one  sees,  always  with  new 
astonishment,  spring  up  around  the  throne;  one  of  those 
caprices  of  destiny  which  chance  raises  and  destroys; 
like  a  gigantic  waterspout,  which  advances  on  the  ocean, 
threatening  to  annihilate  everything,  but  which  is  dis- 
persed by  a  stone  thrown  from  the  hand  of  a  sailor;  or  an 
avalanche,  which  threatens  to  swallow  towns,  and  fill  up 
valleys,  because  a  bird  in  its  flight  has  detached  a  flake  of 
snow  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

Alberoni  was  born  in  a  gardener's  cottage,  and  as  a  child 
he  was  the  bell-ringer.  When  still  a  young  man  he 
exchanged  his  smock-frock  for  a  surplice,  but  was  of  a 
merry  and  jesting  disposition.  The  Duke  of  Parma  heard 
him  laugh  one  day  so  gaily  that  the  poor  duke,  who  did 
not  laugh  every  day,  asked  who  it  was  that  was  so  merry, 
and  had  him  called.  Alberoni  related  to  him  some  gro- 
tesque adventure.  His  Highness  laughed  heartily;  and. 
finding  that  it  was  pleasant  to  laugh  sometimes,  attached 
him  to  his  person.  The  duke  soon  found  that  he  had 
mind,  and  fancied  that  that  mind  was  not  incapable  of 
business. 


ALBERONI.  69 

rt  was  at  this  time  that  tho  poor  Bishop  of  Parma  came 
back,  deeply  mortified  at  his  reception  by  the  generalissimo 
of  the  French  army.  The  susceptibility  of  this  envoy 
might  compromise  the  grave  interests  which  his  Highness 
had  to  discuss  with  France.  His  Highness  judged  that 
Alberoui  was  the  man  to  be  humiliated  by  notliing,  and  he 
sent  the  abbe  to  finish  the  negotiation  which  the  bishop 
had  left  unfinished.  Monsieur  de  Vendôme,  who  had 
not  put  himself  out  for  a  bishop,  did  not  do  so  for  an 
abbé,  and  received  the  second  ambassador  as  he  had  the 
first;  but,  instead  of  following  the  example  of  his  prede- 
cessor, he  found  in  Monsieur  de  Vendôme's  own  situation 
so  much  subject  for  merry  jests  and  strange  praises  that 
the  affair  was  finished  at  once,  and  he  came  back  to  the 
duke  with  everything  arranged  to  his  desire. 

This  was  a  reason  for  the  duke  to  employ  him  a  second 
time.  This  time  Vendôme  was  just  going  to  sit  down  to 
table,  and  Alberoni,  instead  of  beginning  about  business, 
asked  if  he  would  taste  two  dishes  of  his  cooking,  went 
into  the  kitchen,  and  came  back,  a  soiq)e  au  fromage 
in  one  hand,  and  macaroni  in  the  other.  De  Vendôme 
found  the  soup  so  good  that  he  asked  Alberoni  to  take 
some  with  him  at  his  own  table.  At  dessert  Alberoni 
introduced  his  business,  and,  profiting  by  the  good  humour 
of  Vendôme,  he  twisted  him  round  his  finger. 

His  Highness  was  astonished.  The  greatest  genius  he 
had  met  with  had  never  done  so  much.  The  next  time  it 
was  Monsieur  de  V"endôme  who  asked  the  Duke  of  Parma 
it  he  had  nothing  else  to  negotiate  with  him.  Alberoni 
found  means  of  persuading  his  sovereign  that  he  would  be 
more  useful  to  him  near  Vendôme  than  elsewhere,  and 
he  persuaded  Vendôme  that  he  could  not  exist  without 
soupe  au  fromage  and  macaroni. 

Monsieur  de  Vendôme  attached  him  to  his  service,  allowed 
him  to  interfere  in  his  most  secret  affairs,  and  made  him 
his  chief  secretary.  At  this  time  Vendôme  left  for  Spain. 
Alberoni  put  himself  in  communication  with  Madame  des 


70  THE   CHEVALIER    d'IIARMENTAL. 

Ursins;  and  when  Vendôme  died,  she  gave  Alberoni  the 
same  post  near  lier  he  had  occupied  near  the  deceased. 

This  was  anotlier  step.  The  Princesse  des  Ursins  began 
to  get  old,  —  an  unpardonable  crime  in  the  eyes  of  Philip  V. 
She  resolved  to  place  a  young  woman  near  the  king, 
through  whom  she  might  continue  to  reign  over  him. 
Alberoni  proposed  the  daughter  of  his  old  master,  whom 
he  represented  as  a  child,  without  character  and  without 
will,  who  would  claim  nothing  of  royalty  but  the  name. 
The  princess  was  taken  by  this  promise.  The  marriage 
was  decided  on,  and  the  young  princess  left  Italy  for  Spain. 

Her  first  act  of  authority  was  to  arrest  the  Princesse  des 
Ursins,  who  had  come  to  meet  her  in  a  court  dress,  and  to 
send  her  back  as  she  was,  with  her  neck  uncovered,  in  a 
bitter  frost,  in  a  carriage  of  which  the  guard  had  broken 
the  window  with  his  elbow,  first  to  Burgos,  and  then  to 
France,  where  she  arrived,  after  having  been  obliged  to 
borrow  fifty  pistoles  from  her  servants.  After  his  first 
interview  with  Elizabeth  Farnese,  the  king  announced  to 
Alberoni  that  he  was  prime  minister.  From  that  day, 
thanks  to  the  young  queen,  who  owed  him  everything, 
the  ex-ringer  of  bells  exercised  an  unlimited  empire  over 
Philip  V. 

Now  this  is  what  Alberoni  pictured  to  himself,  having 
always  prevented  Philip  V.  from  recognising  the  peace  of 
Utrecht.  If  the  conspiracy  succeeded,  —  if  D'Harmental 
carried  off  the  Due  d'Orléans,  and  took  him  to  the  citadel 
of  Toledo  or  the  fortress  of  Saragossa,  —  Alberoni  would 
get  Monsieur  du  Maine  recognised  as  regent,  would  with- 
draw France  from  the  quadruple  alliance,  throw  the  Chev- 
alier de  St.  George  with  the  fleet  on  the  English  coast,  and 
set  Prussia,  Sweden,  and  Russia,  with  whom  he  had  a 
treaty  of  alliance,  at  variance  with  Holland.  The  empire 
would  then  profit  by  their  dispute  to  retake  Naples  and 
Sicily;  would  assure  Tuscany  to  the  second  son  of  the 
King  of  Spain;  would  reunite  the  Catholic  Netherlands  to 
France,  give  Sardinia  to  the  Dukes  of  Savoy,  Commachio 


ALBERONI.  71 

to  the  Pope,  and  Mantua  to  tlie  Venetians.  He  would 
make  himself  the  soul  of  the  great  league  of  the  South 
against  the  North,  and  if  Louis  XV.  died  would  crown 
riiilip  V.  king  of  half  the  world. 

All  these  things  were  now  in  the  hands  of  a  young  man 
twenty-six  years  of  age;  and  it  was  not  astonishing  that 
he  should  be,  at  first,  frightened  at  the  responsibility 
which  weighed  upon  him. 

As  he  was  still  deep  in  thought,  the  Abbé  Brigand 
entered.  He  had  already  found  a  lodging  for  the  chevalier 
at  No.  5  Rue  du  Temps  Ferdu,  —  a  small  furnished  room, 
suitable  to  a  young  man  who  came  to  seek  his  fortune  in 
Paris.  He  brought  him  also  two  thousand  pistoles  from 
the  Prince  of  Cellamare. 

D'Harmental  wished  to  refuse  them,  for  it  seemed  as 
if  he  would  be  no  longer  acting  according  to  conscience  and 
devotion;  but  Brigand  explained  to  him  that  in  such  an 
enterprise  there  are  susceptibilities  to  conquer,  and  accom- 
plices to  pay;  and  that  besides,  if  the  affair  succeeded,  he 
would  have  to  set  out  instantly  for  Spain,  and  perhaps 
make  his  way  by  force  of  gold.  Brigand  carried  away  a 
complete  suit  of  the  chevalier's,  as  a  pattern  for  a  fresh 
one  suitable  for  a  clerk  in  an  office.  The  Abbé  Brigand 
was  a  useful  man. 

D'Harmental  passed  the  rest  of  the  day  in  preparing  for 
his  pretended  journey,  and  removed,  in  case  of  accident, 
every  letter  which  might  compromise  a  friend;  then  went 
toward  the  Rue  St.  Honoré,  where  —  thanks  to  La  Nor- 
mande —  he  hoped  to  have  news  of  Captain  Roquefinette. 
In  fact,  from  the  moment  that  a  lieutenant  for  his  enter- 
prise had  been  spoken  of,  he  had  thought  of  this  man,  who 
had  given  him  as  his  second  a  proof  of  his  careless 
courage.  He  had  instantly  recognised  in  him  one  of 
those  adventurers  always  ready  to  sell  their  blood  for  a 
good  price,  and  who,  in  time  of  peace,  when  their 
swords  are  useless  to  the  State,  place  them  at  the  service 
of  individuals. 


72  THE    CIIFA'ALIKK    ij'lIAIi.MHNTAL. 

On  becoming  a  conspirator  one  always  becomes  supersti- 
tions, and  D'llarinental  fancied  that  it  was  an  intervention 
of  Providence  wliicli  liad  introduced  him  to  Koquefinette. 
The  chevalier,  without  being  a  regular  customer,  went 
occasionally  to  the  tavern  of  La  Fillon.  It  was  quite 
fashionable  at  that  time  to  go  and  drink  at  her  house. 
D'Harmental  was  to  her  neither  her  son,  a  name  which 
she  gave  to  all  her  habitues,  nor  her  gossip,  a  word 
which  she  reserved  for  the  Abbé  Dubois,  but  simply 
Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  —  a  mark  of  respect  which  would 
have  been  considered  rather  a  humiliation  by  most  of  the 
young  men  of  fashion.  La  Fillon  was  much  astonished 
when  D'Harmental  asked  to  see  one  of  her  servants  called 
La  Normande. 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu!  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  she, 
"I  am  really  distressed;  but  La  Normande  is  waiting  at 
a  dinner  which  will  last  till  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Plague  !  what  a  dinner  !  " 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?"  replied  La  Fillon.  "It  is  a 
caprice  of  an  old  friend  of  the  house.  He  will  not  be 
waited  on  by  any  one  but  her,  and  I  cannot  refuse  him 
that  satisfaction." 

"  When  he  has  money,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  give  him  credit  up  to  a  certain 
sum.  It  is  a  weakness,  but  one  cannot  help  being  grate- 
ful. He  started  me  in  the  world,  such  as  you  see  me, 
monsieur,  —  me,  who  have  had  in  my  house  the  best  people 
in  Paris,  including  the  regent.  I  was  only  the  daughter 
of  a  poor  chair-bearer.  Oh!  I  am  not  like  the  greater 
part  of  your  beautiful  duchesses,  who  deny  their  origin; 
nor  like  two  thirds  of  your  dukes  and  peers,  who  fabricate 
genealogies  for  themselves.  No!  what  I  am,  I  owe  to  my 
own  merit,  and  I  am  proud  of  it." 

"Then,"  said  the  chevalier,  who  was  not  particularly 
interested  by  La  Fillon's  history,  "you  say  that  Tia 
Normande  will  not  have  finished  with  this  dinner  til) 
to-morrow  evening  ?  " 


ALBERONI.  73 

"The  jolly  old  captain  never  stays  less  time  tlian  that 
at  table,  when  once  he  is  there." 

"  But,  my  dear  présidente  "  (this  was  a  name  sometimes 
given  to  La  Fillon,  as  a  certain  quid  pro  quo  for  the  prési^ 
dente  who  had  the  same  name  as  herself),  "do  you  think, 
by  chance,  your  captain  may  be  my  captain  ?  " 

"  What  is  yours  called  ?  " 

"Captain  Roquefinette." 

"It  is  the  same." 

"  He  is  here  ?  " 

"In  person." 

"  Well,  he  is  just  the  man  I  want  ;  and  I  only  asked  îo\ 
La  Normande  to  get  his  address." 

"Then  all  is  right,"  said  the  présidente. 

"Have  the  kindness  to  send  for  him." 

"  Oh  !  he  would  not  come  down  for  the  regent  himself. 
If  you  want  to  see  him  you  must  go  up." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"At  No.  2,  where  you  supped  the  other  evening  with 
the  Baron  de  Valef .  Oh  !  when  he  has  money,  nothing  is 
too  good  for  him.  Although  he  is  but  a  captain,  he  has 
the  heart  of  a  king." 

"Better  and  better,"  said  D'Harmental,  mounting  the 
staircase,  without  being  deterred  by  the  recollection  of  the 
misadventure  which  had  happened  to  him  in  that  room; 
"that  is  exactly  what  I  want." 

If  D'Harmental  had  not  known  the  room  in  question, 
the  voice  of  the  captain  would  soon  have  served  him  for  a 
guide. 

"Now,  my  little  loves,"  said  he,  "the  third  and  last 
verse,  and  together  in  the  chorus."  Then  he  began  sing- 
ing in  a  magnificent  bass  voice,  and  four  or  five  female 
voices  took  up  the  chorus. 

"That  is  better,"  said  the  captain;  "now  let  us  have  the 
Battle  of  Malplaquet." 

"No,  no,"  said  a  voice;  "I  have  had  enough  of  your 
battle." 


74  THE    CHEVALIER   d'HAKMENTAL. 

"Wliut  !  enou^^li  of  it,  — a  battle  I  was  at  inysclf  ?" 

"That  is  nothing  to  me.  I  like  a  romance  better  than 
all  your  wicked  battle-songs  full  of  oaths."  And  she 
began  to  sing,  "  Linval  loved  Arsène  —  " 

"Silence!  "  said  the  captain.  "Am  I  not  master  here  ? 
As  long  as  I  have  any  money  I  will  be  served  as  I  like. 
When  I  have  no  more,  that  will  be  another  thing;  then 
you  may  sing  what  you  like;  I  shall  have  nothing  to  say 
to  it." 

It  appeared  that  the  servants  of  the  cabaret  thought  it 
beneath  the  dignity  of  their  sex  to  subscribe  to  such  a 
pretension,  for  there  was  sucli  a  noise  that  D'Harmental 
tliought  it  best  to  announce  himself. 

"Pull  the  bobbin,  and  the  latch  will  go  up,"  said  the 
captain. 

D'Harmental  followed  IRie  instruction  which  was  given 
him  in  the  words  of  Little  Red  E,iding-hood  ;  and,  having 
entered,  saw  the  captain  lying  on  a  couch  before  the 
remains  of  an  ample  dinner,  leaning  on  a  cushion,  a 
woman's  shawl  over  his  shoulders,  a  great  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  a  cloth  rolled  round  his  head  like  a  turban. 
Three  or  four  servants  were  standing  round  him  with 
napkins  in  their  hands.  On  a  chair  near  him  was  placed 
his  coat,  on  which  was  to  be  seen  a  new  shoulder-knot, 
his  hat  with  a  new  lace,  and  the  famous  sword  which  had 
furnished  Ravanne  with  the  facetious  comparison  to  his 
mother's  spit. 

"What!  is  it  you?"  cried  the  captain.  "You  find  me 
like  Monsieur  de  Bonneval,  —  in  my  seraglio,  and  sur- 
rounded by  my  slaves.  You  do  not  know  Monsieur  de 
Bonneval,  ladies;  he  is  a  pacha  of  three  tails,  who,  like 
me,  could  not  bear  romances,  but  who  understood  how  to 
live.     Heaven  preserve  me  from  such  a  fate  as  his  !  " 

"Yes,  it  is  T,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  unable  to 
prevent  laughing  at  the  grotesque  group  which  presented 
itself.  "  I  see  you  did  not  give  me  a  false  address,  and  1 
congratulate  you  on  your  veracity." 


ALBEKONI.  75 

"Welcome,  chevalier,"  said  the  captain.  "Ladies,  I  beg 
you  to  serve  monsieur  with  the  grace  which  distinguishes 
you,  and  to  sing  him  whatever  songs  he  likes.  Sit  down, 
chevalier,  and  eat  and  drink  as  if  you  were  at  home,  par-" 
ticularly  as  it  is  your  horse  we  are  eating  and  drinking. 
He  is  already  more  than  half  gone,  poor  animal,  but  the 
remains  are  good." 

"Thank  you,  captain,  I  have  just  dined;  and  I  have  onlj 
one  word  to  say  to  you,  if  you  will  permit  it." 

"No,  pardleu  !  I  do  not  permit  it,"  said  the  captain, 
"unless  it  is  about  another  engagement;  that  would  come 
before  everything.     La  Normande,  give  me  my  sword." 

"No,  captain;  it  is  on  business,"  interrupted  D'Har- 
mental. 

"  Oh  !  if  it  is  on  business,  I  am  your  humble  servant;  but 
I  am  a  greater  tyrant  than  the  tyrants  of  Thebes  or  Corinth, 
—  Archias,  Pelopidas,  Leonidas,  or  any  other  that  ends  in 
'  as,  '  who  put  off  business  till  to-morrow.  I  have  enough 
money  to  last  till  to-morrow  evening;  then,  after  to- 
morrow, business." 

"  But  at  least  after  to-morrow,  captain,  I  may  count  upon 
you  ?  " 

"For  life  or  death,  chevalier." 

"T  believe  that  the  adjournment  is  prudent." 

"Prudentissimo!  "  said  the  captain.  "Athenais,  light 
my  pipe.  La  Normande,  pour  me  out  something  to 
drink." 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  then,  captain  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  where  shall  I  find  you  ?  " 

"Listen,"  replied  D'Harmental,  speaking  so  as  to  be 
heard  by  no  one  but  him.  "Walk,  from  ten  to  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu. 
Look  up;  you  will  be  called  from  someAvhere,  and  you 
must  mount  till  you  meet  some  one  you  know.  A  good 
breakfast  will  await  you." 

"All  right,  chevalier,"  replied  the  captain;  "from  ten 
to  eleven  in  the  morning.     Excuse  me  if  I  do  not  conduct 


76  THE  ciir;vALir:u  i/iiai:mem'al. 

you  to  the  dooi-;  but  you  kn«)\v  it  is  not  the  custom  with 
Turks." 

The  chevalier  made  a  sign  with  his  liaiul  that  he  dis- 
pensed with  this  formality,  and  descended  tue  staircase. 
He  was  only  on  the  fourth  step  when  he  heai'd  the  captain 
begin  the  famous  song  of  the  Dragoons  of  Malplaquet, 
which  had  perhaps  caused  as  much  blood  to  be  shod  in 
duels  as  there  had  teen  on  the  field  of  batt'L", 


THE   GARRET.  77 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    GARRET. 

The  next  day  the  Abbé  Brigand  caine  to  the  chevalier's 
house  at  the  same  hour  as  before.  He  was  a  perfectly 
punctual  man.  He  brought  with  him  three  things  particu- 
larly useful  to  the  chevalier,  —  clothes,  a  passport,  and  the 
report  of  the  Prince  of  Cellamare's  police  respecting  what 
the  regent  was  going  to  do  on  the  present  day,  March  24, 
1718.  The  clothes  were  simple,  as  became  the  cadet  of  a 
bourgeois  family  come  to  seek  his  fortune  in  Paris.  The 
chevalier  tried  them  on,  and,  thanks  to  his  own  good  looks, 
found  that  they  became  him  admirably. 

The  abbé  shook  his  head.  He  vv^ould  have  preferred 
that  the  chevalier  should  not  have  looked  quite  so  well; 
but  this  was  an  irreparable  misfortune.  The  passport  was 
in  the  name  of  Signior  Diego,  steward  of  the  noble  house 
of  Oropesa,  who  had  a  commission  to  bring  back  to  Spain 
a  sort  of  maniac,  a  bastard  of  the  said  house,  whose  mania 
was  to  believe  himself  regent  of  France.  This  was  a  pre- 
caution taken  to  meet  anything  that  the  Due  d'Orléans 
might  call  out  from  the  bottom  of  the  carriage;  and,  as  the 
passport  was,  according  to  rule,  signed  by  the  Prince  de 
Cellamare,  and  vised  by  Monsieur  Voyer  d'Argenson,  there 
was  no  reason  why  the  regent,  once  in  the  carriage,  should 
not  arrive  safely  at  Pampeluna,  when  all  would  be  done. 

The  signature  of  Monsieur  Voyer  d'Argenson  was 
imitated  with  a  truth  which  did  honour  to  the  caligraphers 
of  the  Prince  de  Cellamare.  As  to  the  report,  it  was  a  chef- 
cV œuvre  of  clearness  ;  and  we  insert  it  word  for  word,  to 
give  an  idea  of  the  regent's  life,  and  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  Spanish  ambassador's  police  was  conducted.  It 
was  dated  two  o'clock  in  the  raorninar. 


78  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HAUMENTAL. 

"To-day  the  regent  will  rise  late.  There  has  been  a 
supper  in  his  private  rooms;  Madame  d'Averne  was  there 
for  the  first  time  instead  of  Madame  de  Farabère.  The 
other  womeu  were  the  Duchesse  de  Falaris,  and  Saseri, 
maid  of  honour  to  madame.  The  men  were  the  Marquis 
lie  Broglie,  the  Count  de  Noce,  the  Marquis  de  CaniUae, 
the  Due  de  Brancas,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Simiane.  As 
to  the  Marquis  de  Lafare  and  Monsieur  de  Fargy,  they . 
were  detained  in  bed  by  an  illness,  of  which  the  cause  is 
unknown.  At  noon  there  will  be  a  council.  The  regent 
will  communicate  to  the  Dues  du  Maine  and  de  Guiche  the 
project  of  the  treaty  of  the  quadruple  alliance,  which  the 
Abbé  Dubois  has  sent  him,  announcing  his  return  in  three 
or  four  da3^s. 

"The  rest  of  the  day  is  given  entirely  to  paternity.  The 
day  before  yesterday  the  regent  married  his  daughter  by 
La  Desmarets,  who  was  brought  up  by  the  nuns  of  St. 
Denis.  She  dines  with  her  husband  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
and  after  dinner  the  regent  takes  her  to  the  opera,  to 
the  box  of  Madame  Charlotte  de  Bavière.  La  Desmarets, 
who  has  not  seen  her  daughter  for  six  years,  is  told  that, 
if  she  wishes  to  see  her,  she  can  come  to  the  theatre. 
The  regent,  in  spite  of  his  caprice  for  Madame  d'Averne, 
still  pays  court  to  Madame  de  Sabran,  who  piques  herself 
on  her  fidelity  —  not  to  her  husband,  but  to  the  Due  de 
Richelieu.  To  advance  his  affairs,  the  regent  has  appointed 
Monsieur  de  Sabran  his  maître  iV hôtel.'''' 

"I  hope  that  is  business  well  done,"  said  the  Abbé 
Brigaud. 

"Yes,  my  dear  abbé,"  replied  D'Harmental;  "but  if  the 
regent  does  not  give  us  greater  opportunities  than  that  for 
executing  our  enterprise,  it  will  not  be  easy  for  us  to  take 
him  to  Spain." 

"Patience,  patience,"  said  Brigaud;  "if  there  had  been 
an  opportunity  to-day  you  would  not  have  been  able  to 
profit  by  it." 

"No;  you  are  right." 


THE    GARRET.  79 

"Then  you  see  that  what  God  does  is  well  doue.  He 
has  left  us  this  day;  let  us  profit  by  it  to  move." 

This  was  neither  a  long  nor  diliicult  business.  D'Har- 
mental  took  his  treasure,  some  books,  and  the  packet 
which  contained  his  wardrobe,  and  drove  to  the  abbe's 
house.  Then  he  sent  away  his  carriage,  saying  he  should 
go  into  the  country  in  the  evening,  and  would  be  away  ten 
or  twelve  days.  Then,  having  changed  his  elegant  clothes 
for  those  that  the  abbé  had  brought  him,  he  Avent  to  take 
possession  of  his  new  lodging.  It  was  a  room,  or  rather 
an  attic,  with  a  closet,  on  the  fourtli  story,  at  No.  5  Rue 
du  Temps  Perdu.  The  proprietor  of  the  house  was  an 
acquaintance  of  the  Abbé  Brigaud'3;  therefore,  thanks  to 
his  recommendation,  they  had  gone  to  some  expense  for 
the  young  provincial.  He  found  beautifully  white  cur- 
tains, very  fine  linen,  and  a  well-furnished  library;  so  he 
saw  at  once  that,  if  not  so  well  off  as  in  his  own  apart- 
ments, he  should  be  tolerably  comfortable. 

Madame  Denis  (this  was  the  name  of  the  abbe's  friend) 
was  Avaiting  to  do  the  honours  of  the  room  to  her  future 
lodger.  She  boasted  to  him  of  its  convenience,  and  prom- 
ised him  that  there  would  be  no  noise  to  disturb  him  from 
his  work.  To  all  which  he  replied  in  such  a  modest  man- 
ner that,  on  going  down  to  the  first  floor,  where  she  lived, 
Madame  Denis  particularly  recommended  him  to  the  care 
of  the  porter  and  his  wife.  This  young  man,  though  in 
appearance  he  could  certainly  compete  with  the  proudest 
seigneurs  of  the  court,  seemed  to  her  far  from  having  the 
bold  and  free  manners  which  the  young  men  of  the  time 
affected.  'T  is  true  that  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  in  the  name  of 
his  pupil's  family,  had  paid  her  a  quarter  in  advance. 

A  minute  after,  the  abbé  went  down  to  Madame  Denis's 
room,  and  completed  her  good  opinion  of  his  young  protégé 
by  telling  her  that  he  received  absolutely  nobody  but  him- 
self and  an  old  friend  of  his  father's.  The  latter,  in  spite 
of  brusque  manners,  which  he  had  acquired  in  the  field, 
was  a  highly  respectable  gentleman- 


80  THE  CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

D'Harmental  used  this  precaution  for  fear  the  apparition 
of  the  captain  might  frighten  Madame  Denis  if  she  hap- 
pened to  meet  him.  When  he  was  alone,  the  chevalier,  who 
had  already  taken  the  inv^entory  of  his  own  room,  resolved 
to  take  that  of  the  neighbourhood.  He  was  soon  able  to 
convince  himself  of  the  truth  of  what  Madame  Denis  had 
said  about  the  quietness  ot  the  street,  for  it  was  not  more 
than  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide;  but  this  was  to  him  a  recom- 
mendation ,  for  he  calculated  that,  if  pursued,  he  might,  by 
means  of  a  plank  passed  from  one  window  to  that  opposite, 
escape  to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  It  was,  therefore, 
important  to  establish  amicable  relations  with  his  opposite 
neighbours. 

Unfortunately,  they  did  not  seem  much  disposed  to 
sociability;  for  not  only  were  the  windows  hermetically 
sealed,  as  the  time  of  year  demanded,  but  the  curtains 
behind  them  were  so  closely  drawn  that  there  was  not  the 
smallest  opening  through  which  he  could  look.  More 
favoured  than  that  of  Madame  Denis,  the  house  opposite 
had  a  fifth  story,  or  rather  a  terrace.  An  attic  room  pist 
above  the  window  so  carefully  closed  opened  on  this 
terrace.  It  was  probably  the  residence  of  a  gardener, 
for  he  had  succeeded,  by  means  of  patience  and  labour, 
in  transforming  this  terrace  into  a  garden,  containing, 
in  some  twelve  feet  square,  a  fountain,  a  grotto,  and  an 
arbour. 

It  is  true  that  the  fountain  onl}'-  played  by  means  of  a 
superior  reservoir,  which  was  fed  in  winter  by  the  rain,  and 
in  summer  by  what  he  himself  poured  into  it.  It  is  true 
that  the  grotto,  ornamented  with  shell-work,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  wooden  fortress,  appeared  fit  only  to  shelter 
an  individual  of  the  canine  race.  It  is  true  that  the  ar- 
bour, entirely  stripped  of  its  leaves,  appeared  for  the  time 
fit  only  for  an  immense  poultry  cage.  As  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  but  a  monotonous  series  of  roofs  and  chimneys, 
D'Harmental  closed  his  window,  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair, 
put  his  feet  on  the  hobs,  took  up  a  volume  by  the  Abbé 


THE    GARRET.  8l 

Chaulieu,  and  began  to  read  the  verses  addressed  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Launay,  which  had  a  double  interest  for 
him,  since  he  knew  the  heroine. 

The  result  of  this  reading  was  that  the  chevalier,  while 
smiling  at  the  octogenarian  love  of  the  good  abbé,  discov- 
ered that  he,  less  fortunate,  had  his  heart  perfectly  unoccu- 
pied. For  a  short  time  he  had  thought  he  had  loved 
Madame  d'Averne,  and  had  been  loved  by  her;  but  on  her 
part  this  deep  affection  did  not  withstand  the  offer  of  some 
jewels  from  the  regent,  and  the  vanity  of  pleasing  him. 

Before  this  infidelity  had  occurred,  the  chevalier  thought 
that  it  would  have  driven  him  to  despair.  It  had  occurred, 
and  he  had  fought,  beca-use  at  that  time  men  fought  about 
everything  which  arose,  probably  from  duelling  being  so 
strictly  forbidden.  Then  he  began  to  perceive  how  small 
a  place  this  love  had  held  in  his  lieart.  A  real  despair 
would  not  have  allowed  him  to  seek  amusement  at  the  bah 
vidsque,  in  which  case  the  exciting  events  of  the  last  few 
days  would  not  have  happened. 

The  result  of  this  was,  that  the  chevalier  remained 
convinced  that  he  was  incapable  of  a  deep  love,  and  that 
he  was  only  destined  for  those  charming  wickednesses  so 
much  in  vogue.  He  got  up,  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  his  room;  whilst  thus  employed  he  perceived  that  the 
window  opposite  was  now  wide  oppn.  He  stopped  mechan- 
ically, drew  back  his  curtain,  and  began  to  investigate  the 
room  thus  exposed. 

It  was  to  all  appearance  occupied  by  a  woman.  Near  the 
window,  on  which  a  charming  little  Italian  greyhound 
rested  her  delicate  paws,  was  an  embroidery  frame.  Oppo- 
site the  window  was  an  open  harpsichord  between  two 
music  stands  ;  some  crayon  drawings  framed  in  black  wood 
with  a  gold  bead  were  hung  on  the  walls,  which  were 
covered  with  a  Persian  paper.  Curtains  of  Indian 
chintz,  of  the  same  pattern  as  the  paper,  hung  behind  the 
muslin  curtains.  Through  a  second  window,  half  open, 
he  could  see  the  curtains  of  a  recess  which  probably  con- 


82  THE    CIIEVALlKiC   b'lIARMENTAL. 

taiued  a  bed.  The  rest  of  the  furniture  was  perfectly 
simple,  but  almost  elegaut,  which  was  due  evidently  not 
to  the  fortune,  but  to  the  taste,  of  the  modest  inhabitant. 

An  old  woman  was  sweeping,  dusting,  and  arranging 
the  room,  profiting  by  the  absence  of  its  mistress  to  do 
this  household  work,  for  there  was  no  one  else  to  be  seen 
in  the  room,  and  yet  it  was  clear  it  was  not  she  who 
inhabited  it.  All  at  once  the  head  of  the  greyhound  — 
whose  great  eyes  had  been  wandering  till  then,  with  the 
aristocratic  indifference  characteristic  of  that  animal  — 
became  animated.  She  leaned  her  head  over  into  the  street; 
then,  with  a  miraculous  lightness  and  address,  jumped  on 
to  the  window-sill,  pricking  up  her  long  ears,  and  raising 
one  of  her  paws.  The  chevalier  understood  by  these  signs 
that  the  tenant  of  the  little  room  was  approaching.  He 
opened  his  window  directly;  unfortunately  it  was  already 
too  late,  the  street  was  solitary. 

At  the  same  moment  the  greyhound  leaped  from  the 
window  into  the  room,  and  ran  to  the  door.  D'Har- 
mental  concluded  that  the  young  lady  was  mounting  the 
stairs.  In  order  to  see  her  at  his  ease,  he  threw  himself 
back  and  hid  behind  the  curtain,  but  the  old  woman  came 
to  the  window  and  closed  it.  The  chevalier  did  not 
expect  this  dénouement.  There  was  nothing  for  him  but 
to  close  his  window  also,  and  to  come  back  and  put  his 
feet  on  the  hobs.  This  was  not  amusing,  and  the  chevalier 
began  to  feel  how  solitary  he  should  be  in  this  retreat. 
He  remembered  that  formerly  he  also  used  to  play  and 
draw,  and  he  thought  that,  if  he  had  the  smallest  spinet 
and  some  chalks,  he  could  bear  it  with  patience. 

He  rang  for  the  porter,  and  asked  where  he  could  pro- 
cure these  things.  The  porter  replied  that  every  increase 
of  furniture  must  be  at  his  own  expense  ;  that  if  he 
wished  for  a  harpsichord  he  must  hire  it,  and  that  as  to 
pencils  he  could  get  them  at  the  shop  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  de  Cléry. 

D'Harmental  gave  a  double  louis  to  the  porter,  telling 


THE   GAKKET.  83 

liim  that  iu  half  an  hour  he  wished  to  have  a  spinet  and 
some  pencils.  The  double  louis  was  an  argument  of  which 
he  had  before  found  the  advantage;  reproaching  himself, 
however,  with  having  used  it  this  time  with  a  carelessness 
which  gave  the  lie  to  his  apparent  position,  he  recalled 
the  porter,  and  told  him  that  he  expected  for  his  double 
louis  to  have,  not  only  paper  and  pencils,  but  a  month's 
hire  of  his  instrument. 

The  porter  replied  that,  as  he  would  speak  as  if  it  were 
for  himself,  the  thing  was  possible  ;  but  that  he  must  cer- 
tainly pay  the  carriage.  D'Harmental  consented,  and 
half  an  hour  afterwards  was  in  possession  of  the  desired 
objects.  Such  a  wonderful  place  is  Paris  for  every 
enchanter  with  a  golden  wand.  The  porter,  when  he  went 
down,  told  his  wife  that  if  the  new  lodger  was  not  more 
careful  of  his  money  he  would  ruin  his  family,  and  showed 
lier  two  crowns  of  six  francs,  which  he  had  saved  out  of  the 
double  louis.  The  woman  took  the  two  crowns  from  the 
hands  of  her  husband,  calling  him  a  drunkard,  and  put 
them  into  a  little  bag,  hidden  under  a  heap  of  old  clothes, 
deploring  the  misfortune  of  fathers  and  mothers  who  bleed 
themselves  to  death  for  such  good-for-nothings.  This  was 
the  funeral  oration  of  the  chevalier's  double  louis. 


84  THE   CHEVALIKK   DilAKMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   CITIZEN    OF    THE    RUE    DU    TEMPS    PEKDU. 

DuRixG  this  time  D'Harmental  was  seated  before  the  spinet, 
playing  his  best.  The  shopkeeper  had  had  a  sort  of  con- 
science, and  liad  sent  him  an  instrument  nearly  in  tune,  so 
that  the  chevalier  beyan  to  perceive  that  he  was  doing 
wonders,  and  almost  believed  he  was  born  with  a  genius 
for  music,  which  had  only  required  such  a  circumstance  to 
develop  itself.  Doubtless  there  was  some  truth  in  this, 
for  in  the  middle  of  a  brilliant  shake  he  saw,  from  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  five  little  lingers  delicately  rais- 
ing the  curtain  to  see  whence  this  unaccustomed  harmony 
proceeded.  Unfortunately,  at  the  sight  of  these  lingers, 
the  chevalier  forgot  his  music,  and  turned  round  quickly 
on  the  stool,  in  hopes  of  seeing  a  face  behind  the  hand. 

This  ill-judged  manœuvre  ruined  him.  The  mistress  of 
the  little  room,  surprised  in  the  act  of  curiosity,  let  the 
curtain  fall.  D'Harmental,  wounded  by  this  prudery, 
closed  his  window.  The  evening  passed  in  reading,  draw- 
ing, and  playing.  The  chevalier  could  not  have  believed 
that  there  were  so  many  minutes  in  an  hou.r,  or  so  many 
hours  in  a  day.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  rang  for 
the  porter,  to  give  orders  for  the  next  day;  but  no  one 
answered;  he  had  been  in  bed  a  long  time,  and  D'Harmen- 
tal learned  that  there  were  people  who  went  to  bed  about 
the  time  he  ordered  his  carnage  to  pay  visits. 

This  set  him  thinking  of  the  strange  manners  of  that 
unfortunate  class  of  society  who  do  not  know  the  opera, 
who  do  not  go  to  supper  parties,  and  who  sleep  all  night 
and  are  awake  all  day.  He  thought  you  must  come  to  the 
Rue   du  Temps  Perdu  to  see  such  things,  and  promised 


A   CITIZEN    OF   THE    EUE    DU    TEMTti    PEKDU.  65 

himself  to  amuse  his  friends  with  an  account  of  this  singu- 
larity. He  was  glad  to  see  also  that  his  neighbour  watched 
like  himself.  This  showed  in  her  a  mind  superior  to  that 
of  the  vulgar  inhabitants  of  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu. 
D'Harmental  believed  tJiat  people  only  watched  becr.use 
they  did  not  wish  to  sleep,  or  because  they  wanted  to  be 
amused.  He  forgot  all  those  who  do  so  because  they  are 
obliged.  At  midnight  the  light  in  the  opposite  windows 
was  extinguished;  D'Harmental  also  v/ent  to  his  bed.  The 
next  day  the  Abbe  Brigaud  appeared  at  eight  o'clock.  Ke 
brought  D'Harmental  the  second  report  of  secret  police. 
It  was  in  these  terms  :  — 

"  Three  o'clock,  A.  M. 

"  In  consequence  of  the  regular  life  which  he  led  yester- 
day, the  regent  has  given  orders  to  be  called  at  nine. 

"  He  will  receive  some  appointed  persons  at  that  time. 

"From  ten  to  twelve  there  will  be  a  public  audience. 

"  From  twelve  till  one  the  regent  will  be  engaged  with 
La  Vrillière  and  Leblanc. 

"  From  one  to  two  he  will  open  letters  with  Torcy. 

"At  half -past  two  there  will  be  a  council,  and  he  will 
pay  the  king  a  visit. 

"At  three  o'clock  he  will  go  to  the  tennis  court  in  the 
Rue  du  Seine,  to  sustain,  with  Brancas  and  Canillac,  a 
challenge  against  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  the  Marquis  de 
Broglie,  and  the  Comte  de  Gacé. 

"  At  six  he  will  go  to  supper  at  the  Luxembourg  with 
the  Duchesse  de  Berry,  and  will  pass  the  evening  there. 

"  From  there  he  will  come  back,  without  guards,  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  unless  the  Duchesse  de  Berry  gives  him  an 
escort  from  hers." 

"  Without  guards,  my  dear  abbé  !  what  do  you  think  of 
that?"  said  D'Harmental,  beginning  to  dress;  "does  it 
not  make  your  mouth  water  ?  " 

"Without  guards,  yes,"  replied  the  abbé;  "but  with 
footmen,  outriders,  a  coachman,  —  all  people  who  do  not 


86  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HAKMKNTAL. 

fight  much,  it  is  true,  but  who  cry  very  loud.  Oh! 
patience,  patience,  my  young  friend.  You  are  in  a  great 
hurry  to  be  a  grandee  of  Spain," 

"No,  my  dear  abbé,  but  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  give  up  living 
in  an  attic  where  I  lack  everything,  and  where  I  am 
obliged  to  dress  myself  alone,  as  you  see.  Do  you  think  it 
is  nothing  to  go  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock,  and  dress  in  the 
morning  without  a  valet  ?" 

''Yes,  but  you  have  music,"  replied  the  abbé. 

"Ah!  indeed!"  replied  D'Harmental.  "Abbé,  open 
my  window,  I  beg,  that  they  may  see  I  receive  good 
company.     That  will  do  me  honour  with  my  neighbours." 

"Ho!  ho!"  said  the  abbé,  doing  what  D'Harmental 
asked;  "that  is  not  bad  at  all." 

"How,  not  bad?"  replied  D'Harmental;  "it  is  very 
good,  on  the  contrary.  It  is  from  Armida;  the  devil  take 
me  if  I  expected  to  find  that  in  the  fourth  story  of  a 
house  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu." 

"Chevalier,  I  predict,"  said  the  abbé,  "that,  if  the 
singer  be  young  and  pretty,  in  a  week  there  will  be  as 
much  trouble  to  get  you  away  as  there  is  now  to  keep  you 
here." 

"My  dear  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  "if  your  police 
were  as  good  as  those  of  the  Prince  de  Cellamare,  you 
would  know  that  I  am  cured  of  love  for  a  long  time,  and 
here  is  the  proof.  Do  not  think  I  pass  my  days  in  sighing. 
I  beg  when  you  go  down  you  will  send  me  something  like 
a  pate,  and  a  dozen  bottles  of  good  wine.  I  trust  to  you. 
I  know  you  are  a  connoisseur;  besides,  sent  by  you,  it  will 
seem  like  a  guardian's  attention.  Bought  by  me,  it  would 
seem  like  a  pupil's  debauch;  and  I  have  my  provincial 
reputation  to  keep  up  with  Madame  Denis." 

"  That  is  true.  I  do  not  ask  you  what  it  is  for,  but  I  will 
send  it  to  you." 

"  And  you  are  right,  my  dear  abbé.  It  is  all  for  the  good 
of  the  cause." 

"In  an  hour  the  pate  and  the  wine  will  be  here." 


A   CITIZEN    OF    THE    RUE    DU    TEMPS   PERDU.  87 

*'  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 

"To-morrow,  probably." 

"Adieu,  then,  till  to-morrow." 

"You  send  me  away." 

"I  am  expecting  somebody." 

"  All  for  the  good  of  the  cause  ?  " 

"I  answer  you,  go,  and  may  God  preserve  you." 

"  Stay,  and  may  the  devil  not  get  hold  of  you.  Remem- 
ber that  it  was  a  woman  who  got  us  turned  out  of  our 
terrestrial  paradise.     Defy  women." 

"Amen,"  said  the  chevalier,  making  a  parting  sign  with 
his  hand  to  the  Abbé  Brigand. 

Indeed,  as  the  abbé  had  observed,  D'Harmental  was  in 
a  hurry  to  see  him  go.  The  great  love  for  music,  which 
the  chevalier  had  discovered  only  the  day  before,  had 
progressed  so  rapidly  that  he  did  not  wish  his  attention 
called  away  from  what  he  had  just  heard.  The  little 
which  that  horrible  window  allowed  him  to  hear,  and 
which  was  more  of  the  instrument  than  of  the  voice, 
showed  that  his  neighbour  was  an  excellent  musician. 
Tlie  playing  was  skilful,  the  voice  sweet  and  sustained, 
and  had,  in  its  high  notes  and  àeep  vibrations,  something 
which  awoke  an  answer  in  the  heart  of  the  listener.  At 
last,  after  a  very  difficult  and  perfectly  executed  passage, 
D'Harmental  could  not  help  clapping  his  hands  and  crying 
bravo!  As  bad  luck  would  have  it,  this  triumph,  to 
which  she  had  not  been  accustomed,  instead  of  encoura- 
ging the  musician,  frightened  her  so  much  that  voice  and 
harpsichord  stopped  at  the  same  instant,  and  silence  imme- 
diately succeeded  to  the  melody  for  which  the  chevalier 
had  so  imprudently  manifested  his  enthusiasm. 

In  exchange,  he  saw  the  door  of  the  room  above  (which 
we  have  said  led  on  to  the  terrace)  open,  and  a  hand  was 
stretched  out,  evidently  to  ascertain  what  kind  of  weather 
it  was.  The  answer  of  the  weather  seemed  reassuring,  for 
the  hand  was  almost  directly  followed  by  a  head  covered 
by   a   little   chintz  cap,  tied  on  the  forehead  by  a  violet 


88  TUE    CHEVALIER    D'HAKMENTAL. 

ribbon;  and  the  head  was  only  a  few  instants  in  advance 
of  a  neck  and  shoulders  clothed  in  a  kind  of  dressing-gown 
of  the  same  stuff  as  the  cap.  This  was  not  quite  enough 
to  enable  the  chevalier  to  decide  to  which  sex  the  indi- 
vidual, who  seemed  so  cautious  about  exposing  himself  to 
the  morning  air,  belonged.  At  last,  a  sort  of  sunbeam 
having  slipped  out  between  two  clouds,  the  timid  inhab- 
itant of  the  terrace  appeared  to  be  encouraged  to  come  out 
altogether.  D'Harmental  then  saw,  by  his  black  velvet 
knee-breeches  and  by  his  silk  stockings,  that  the  person- 
age who  had  just  entered  on  the  scene  was  of  the  masculine 
gender. 

It  was  the  gardener  of  whom  we  spoke.  The  bad 
weather  of  the  preceding  days  had,  without  doubt,  de- 
prived him  of  his  morning  walk,  and  had  prevented  him 
from  giving  his  garden  his  ordinary  attention,  for  he  began 
to  walk  round  it  with  a  visible  fear  of  finding  some  acci- 
dent produced  by  the  wind  or  rain;  but,  after  a  careful 
inspection  of  the  fountain,  the  grotto,  and  the  arbour, 
which  were  its  three  principal  ornaments,  the  excellent 
face  of  the  gardener  was  lighted  by  a  ray  of  joy,  as  the 
weather  was  by  the  ray  of  sun.  He  perceived,  not  only 
that  everything  was  in  its  place,  but  that  the  reservoir  was 
full  to  overflowing.  He  thought  he  might  indulge  in  play- 
ing his  fountains,  a  treat  which,  ordinarily,  following  the 
example  of  Louis  XIV.,  he  only  allowed  himself  on  Sun- 
days. He  turned  the  cock,  and  the  jet  raised  itself  majes- 
tically to  the  height  of  four  or  five  feet.  The  good  man 
was  so  delighted  that  he  began  to  sing  the  burden  of  an 
old  pastoral  song  which  D'Harmental  had  heard  when  he 
was  a  baby,  and,   while  repeating, 

"  Let  me  ^o 
And  let  me  play 
Beneath  the  hazel-tree/' 

he  ran  to  the  window,  and  called  aloud,  "Bathilde!  Ba- 
th ilde!" 


A   CITIZEN    OF    THE    KUE    DU    TEMPS    FEKDU.  89 

The  chevalier  understood  that  there  was  a  communica- 
tion between  the  rooms  on  the  third  and  fourth  stories, 
and  some  relation  between  the  gardener  and  the  musician, 
and  thought  that  perhaps  if  he  remained  at  the  window- 
she  would  not  come  on  to  the  terrace;  therefore  he  closed 
liis  window  with  a  careless  air,  taking  care  to  keep  a  little 
opening  behind  the  curtain,  through  which  he  could  see 
without  being  seen.  What  he  had  foreseen  happened. 
Very  soon  the  head  of  a  charming  young  girl  appeared  on 
the  terrace;  but  as,  without  doubt,  the  ground  on  which 
lie  had  ventured  with  so  much  courage  was  too  damp,  she 
would  not  go  any  farther.  The  little  dog,  not  less  timid 
than  its  mistress,  remained  near  her,  resting  its  white 
paws  on  the  window,  and  shaking  its  head  in  silent  denial 
to  every  invitation.  A  dialogue  was  established  between 
the  good  man  and  the  young  girl,  while  D'Harmental  had 
leisure  to  examine  her  at  ease. 

She  appeared  to  have  arrived  at  that  delicious  time  of 
life  when  woman,  passing  from  childhood  to  youth,  is  in 
the  full  bloom  of  sentiment,  grace,  and  beauty.  He  saw 
that  she  was  not  less  than  sixteen  nor  more  than  eighteen 
years  of  age,  and  that  there  existed  in  her  a  singular  mix- 
ture of  two  races.  She  had  the  fair  hair,  thick  com- 
plexion, and  graceful  neck  of  an  Englishwoman,  with  the 
black  eyes,  coral  lips,  and  pearly  teeth  of  a  Spaniard. 

As  she  did  not  use  either  rouge  or  white,  and  as  at  that 
time  powder  was  scarcely  in  fashion,  and  was  reserved  for 
aristocratic  heads,  her  complexion  remained  in  its  natural 
freshness,  and  nothing  altered  the  colour  of  her  hair. 

The  chevalier  remained  as  in  an  ecstasy, — indeed,  he 
had  never  seen  but  two  classes  of  women  ;  —  the  fat  and 
coarse  peasants  of  the  Nivernais,  with  their  great  feet 
and  hands,  their  short  petticoats,  and  their  hunting-horn 
shaped  hats;  and  the  women  of  the  Parisian  aristocracy» 
beautiful  without  doubt,  but  of  that  beauty  fagged  by 
watching  and  pleasure,  and  by  that  reversing  of  life  which 
makes  them  what  flowers  would  be  if  they  only  saw  the 


90  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

sun  on  some  rare  occasions,  and  the  vivifying  air  of  the 
morning  and  the  evening  only  reached  tlunn  through 
the  windows  of  a  hot-house.  He  did  not  know  this  inter- 
mediate type,  if  one  may  call  it  so,  between  high  society 
and  the  country  people,  which  had  all  the  elegance  of  the 
one  and  all  the  fresh  health  of  the  other.  Thus,  as  we 
have  said,  he  remained  fixed  in  his  place,  and  long  after 
the  young  girl  had  re-entered  he  kept  his  eyes  tixed  on 
the  window  where  this  delicious  vision  had  appeared. 

The  sound  of  his  door  opening  called  him  out  of  his 
ecstasy  :  it  was  the  pate  and  the  wine  from  Abbé  Brigand 
making  their  solemn  entry  into  the  chevalier's  garret. 
The  sight  of  these  provisions  recalled  to  his  mind  tliat  he 
had  now  something  better  to  do  than  to  abandon  himseli 
to  contemplation,  and  that  he  had  given  Captain  Roquefi- 
nette  a  rendezvous  on  the  most  important  business.  Con- 
sequently he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  saw  that  it  was 
ten  o'clock.  This  was,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  the 
appointed  hour.  He  sent  away  the  man  who  had  brought 
the  provisions,  and  said  he  would  lay  the  cloth  himself; 
then,  opening  his  window  once  more,  he  sat  down  to  watch 
for  the  appearance  of  Captain  "Koqiiefinette. 

He  was  hardly  at  his  observatory  before  he  perceived 
the  worthy  captain  coming  round  the  corner  from  the 
Rue  Gros-Chenet,  his  head  in  the  air,  his  hand  on  his  hip, 
and  with  the  martial  and  decided  air  of  a  man  who,  like 
the  Greek  philosopher,  carries  everything  with  him.  His 
hat,  that  thermometer  by  which  his  friends  could  tell  the 
secret  state  of  its  master's  finances,  and  which  on  his 
fortunate  days  was  placed  as  straight  on  his  head  as  a 
pyramid  on  its  base,  had  recovered  that  miraculous  inclina- 
tion which  had  so  struck  the  Baron  de  Valef,  and  thanks 
to  which  one  of  the  points  almost  touched  his  right  shoul- 
der, while  the  parallel  one  might  forty  years  later  have 
given  Franklin,  if  Franklin  had  known  the  captain,  the 
first  idea,  of  his  electric  kite. 

Having  come  about  a  third  down  the  street,  he  raised 


A  CITIZEN    OF   THE    EUE    DU    TEMPS   PERDU.  01 

his  head  as  had  been  arranged,  and  saw  the  chevalier  just 
above  him.  He  who  waited  and  he  who  was  waited  for 
exchanged  nods,  and  the  captain  having  calculated  the 
distance  at  a  glance,  and  recognised  the  door  which  ought 
to  belong  to  the  window  above,  jumped  over  the  threshold 
of  Madame  Denis's  poor  little  house  with  a.s  much  famil- 
iarity as  if  it  had  been  a  tavern.  The  chevalier  shut  the 
window,  and  drew  the  curtains  with  the  greatest  care, — ■ 
either  in  order  that  his  pretty  neighbour  might  not  see  him 
with  the  captain,  or  that  the  captain  might  not  see  her. 

An  instant  afterwards  D'Harmental  heard  the  sound  of 
his  steps,  and  the  beating  of  his  sword  against  the  banis- 
ters. Having  arrived  at  the  third  story,  as  the  light 
which  came  from  below  was  not  aided  by  any  light  from 
above,  he  found  himself  in  a  difficulty,  not  knowing 
whether  to  stop  where  he  was,  or  mount  higher.  Then, 
after  coughing  in  the  most  significant  manner,  and  finding 
that  this  call  remained  unnoticed,  — 

"Morbleu!"  said  he.  "Chevalier,  as  j^ovi  did  not  prob- 
ably bring  me  here  to  break  my  neck,  open  your  door  or  call 
out,  so  that  I  may  be  guided  either  by  the  light  of  heaven, 
or  by  the  sound  of  your  voice  ;  otherwise  I  shall  be  lost, 
Deither  more  nor  less  than  Theseus  in  the  labyrinth." 

And  the  captain  began  to  sing  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  Fair  Ariadne,  I  beg  of  you, 
Help  me,  by  lending  me  your  clue. 
Toutou,  toutou,  toutaine,  toutou  !  " 

The  chevalier  ran  to  his  door  and  opened  it. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  captain,  "the  ladder  up  to  your 
pigeon-house  is  infernally  dark;  still,  here  I  am,  faithful 
to  the  agreement,  exact  to  the  time.  Ten  o'clock  wa;- 
striking  as  I  came  over  the  Pont-Neuf." 


92  THE    ClIEVALIiai    D'il AUiMEiSÏAL. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE    AGREEMENT. 

The  chevalier  extended  his  hand  to  Roquefinette,  saying, — 

"Yes,  you  are  a  man  of  your  word,  but  enter  quickly;  it 
is  important  that  my  neighbours  should  not  notice  you," 

"  In  that  case  I  am  as  dumb  as  a  log,  ''  answered  the 
captain;  "besides,"  added  he,  pointing  to  the  pate  and  the 
bottles  which  covered  the  table,  "you  have  found  the  true 
way  of  shutting  my  mouth." 

The  chevalier  shut  the  door  behind  the  captain  and 
pushed  the  bolt. 

"Ah!  ah!  mystery,  — so  much  the  better,  T  am  fond  of 
mystery.  There  is  almost  always  something  to  be  gained 
when  people  begin  by  saying  Hush.'  In  any  case  you 
cannot  do  better  than  address  yourself  to  your  servant," 
continued  the  captain,  resuming  his  mythological  lan- 
guage. "  You  see  in  me  the  grandson  of  Hippocrates,  the 
god  of  silence.     So  do  not  be  uneasy." 

"That  is  well,  captain,"  answered  D'Harmental,  "for 
I  confess  that  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  is  of  sufficient 
importance  for  me  to  claim  your  discretion  beforehand." 

"  It  is  granted,  chevalier.  While  I  was  giving  a  lesson 
to  little  Rava,nne,  I  saw,  out  of  a  corner  of  my  eye,  that 
you  were  a  skilful  swordsman,  and  I  love  brave  men. 
Then,  in  return  for  a  little  service,  only  worth  a  fillip, 
you  made  me  a  present  of  a  horse  which  was  vvorth  a 
hundred  louis,  and  I  love  generous  men.  Thus,  you  are 
twice  my  man,  why  should  I  not  be  yours  once  ?" 

"Well,"  said  the  chevalier,  "I  see  that  we  understand 
each  other." 

"Speak,  and  I  will  listen,"  answered  the   captain,  as 
suming  his  gravest  air. 


THE    AGREEMENT.  93 

"You  will  listen  better  seated,  my  dear  guest.  Let  us 
go  to  breakfast." 

"  You  preach  like  St.  John  with  the  golden  mouth,  chev- 
alier," said  the  captain,  taking  off  his  sword  and  placing 
that  and  his  hat  on  the  harpsichord;  "so  that,"  continued 
he,  sitting  down  opposite  D'Harmental,  "one  cannot  differ 
from  you  in  opinion.  I  am  here;  command  the  manoeuvre, 
and  I  will  execute  it." 

"Taste  that  wine  while  I  cut  the  pate'." 

"That  is  right,"  said  the  captain,  "let  us  divide  our 
forces,  and  fight  the  enemy  separately,  then  let  us  reunite 
to  exterminate  what   remains." 

And,  joining  practice  to  theory,  the  captain  seized  the 
first  bottle  by  the  neck,  drew  the  cork,  and,  having  filled 
a  bumper,  drank  it  off  with  such  ease  that  one  would  have 
said  that  nature  had  gifted  him  with  an  especial  method 
of  deglutition;  but,  to  do  him  justice,  scarcely  had  he 
drunk  it  thaii  he  perceived  that  the  liquor  which  he  had 
disposed  of  so  cavalierly  merited  a  more  particular  atten- 
tion than  he  had  given  it. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he,  putting  down  his  glass  with  a  respectful 
slowness,  "what  have  I  done,  unworthy  that  I  am?  I 
drink  nectar  as  if  it  were  trash,  and  that  at  the  beginning 
of  the  feast!  Ah!  "  continued  he,  shaking  his  head, 
"  Roquefinette,  my  friend,  you  are  getting  old.  Ten  years 
ago  you  would  have  known  what  it  was  at  the  first  drop 
that  touched  your  palate,  while  now  you  want  many  trials 
to  know  the  worth  of  things.     To  your  health,  chevalier." 

And  this  time  the  captain,  more  circumspect,  drank  the 
second  glass  slowly,  and  set  it  down  three  times  before 
he  finished  it,  winking  his  eyes  in  sign  of  satisfaction. 
Then,  when  he  had  finished,  — 

"This  is  hermitage  of  1702,  the  yt^ar  of  the  1>attle  of 
Priedlingon.  If  your  wine-merchant  has  much  like  that, 
and  if  he  will  give  credit,  let  me  have  his  address.  I 
promise  him  a  good  customer." 

"Captain,"    answered   the  chevalier,   slipping  an    enor- 


94  THE    CIIIîVALIEli   d'HARMENTAL. 

mous  slice  of  pate  on  to  tlie  plate  of  his  guest,  "uiy  wine- 
iiiercliant  not  only  gives  credit,  but  to  my  friends  he  gives 
altogether." 

"Oh,  the  honest  man!"  cried  the  captain.  Then,  after 
a  minute's  silence,  during  which  a  superficial  observer 
would  have  thought  him  absorbed  in  the  appreciation  of 
the  patéj  as  he  had  been  an  instant  before  in  that  of  the 
wine,  lie  leant  his  two  elbows  on  the  table,  and,  looking 
at  D'Harmental  with  a  penetrating  glance  between  his 
knife  and  fork,  — 

"So,  my  dear  chevalier,"  said  he,  "we  conspire,  it 
seems,  and  in  order  to  succeed  wo  have  need  of  poor 
Captain  Koquefinette." 

"And  who  told  you  that,  captain?"  broke  in  the  chev- 
alier, trembling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Who  told  me  that,  pardieu!  It  is  an  easy  riddle  to 
answer.  A  man  who  gives  away  horses  worth  a  hundred 
louis,  who  drinks  wine  at  a  pistole  the  bottle,  and  wlio 
lodges  in  a  garret  in  the  Eue  du  Temps  Perdu,  what 
should  he  be  doing  if  not  conspiring?" 

"Well,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  laughing,  "I  shall 
never  be  discreet;  you  have  divined  the  truth.  Does  a, 
conspiracy  frighten  you  ?"  continued  he,  lilling  his  guest's 
glass. 

"Frighten  tne!  Who  says  that  anything  on  earth  can 
frighten  Captain  Koquefinette?  " 

"JSTot  I,  captain;  for  at  the  first  glance,  at  the  first 
word,   I  fixed  on  you  as  my  second." 

"Ah,  that  is  to  say  that,  if  you  are  hung  on  a  scaffold 
twenty  feet  high,  I  shall  be  hung  on  one  ten  feet  high, 
that's  all!" 

"Peste!  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  "if  one  always 
began  by  seeing  things  in  their  worst  light,  one  would 
never  attempt  anything." 

"Because  I  have  spoken  of  the  gallows?"  answered  the 
captain.  "That  proves  nothing.  What  is  the  gallov/s  in 
the  eyes  of  a  philosopher?     One  of  the  thousand  ways  of 


THE   AGREEMENT.  95 

[carting  from  life,  and  certainly  one  of  the  least  disagree- 
able. One  can  see  that  you  have  never  looked  the  thing 
in  the  face,  since  you  have  such  an  aversion  to  it. 
Besides,  on  proving  our  noble  descent,  we  shall  have  our 
iieads  cut  off,  like  Monsieur  de  Rohan.  Did  you  see 
Monsieur  de  Eohan's  head  cut  off?  "  continued  the  cap- 
tain, looking  at  D'Harmental.  "  He  was  a  handsome  young 
man,  like  you,  and  about  your  age.  He  conspired,  but 
the  thing  failed.  What  would  you  have?  Everybody 
may  be  deceived.  They  built  him  a  beautiful  black 
scaffold;  they  allowed  him  to  turn  towards  the  window 
where  his  mistress  was;  they  cut  the  neck  of  his  shir*-, 
with  scissors,  but  tlie  executioner  was  a  bungler,  accus- 
tomed to  hang,  and  not  to  decapitate,  so  that  he  was 
obliged  to  strike  three  or  four  times  to  cut  the  head  off, 
and  at  last  he  only  managed  by  the  aid  of  a  knife  which 
he  drew  from  his  girdle,  and  with  which  he  chopped  so 
well  that  he  got  the  neck  in  half.  Bravo!  you  are  brave!  " 
continued  the  captain,  seeing  that  the  chevalier  had 
listened  without  frowning  to  all  the  details  of  this  horri- 
ble execution.  "That  will  do,  —  I  am  your  man.  Against 
whom  are  we  conspiring?  Let  us  see.  Is  it  against 
Monsieur  le  Duc  du  Maine?  Is  it  against  Monsieur  le 
Duc  d'Orléans?  Must  we  break  the  lame  one's  other  leg? 
Must  we  cut  out  the  blind  one's  other  eye?     I  am  ready." 

"Nothing  of  all  that,  captain;  and  if  it  pleases  God, 
there  will  be  no  blood  spilt." 

"What  is  going  on  then?  " 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  abduction  of  the  Duke  of 
Mantua's  secretary?" 

"Of  Matthioli?" 

"Yes." 

"  Pardieu  !  I  know  the  affair  better  than  any  one,  for  I 
saw  them  pass  as  they  were  conducting  him  to  Pignerol. 
It  was  the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Martin  and  Monsieur  de 
Villebois  who  did  it;  and  by  this  token  they  each  had 
three  thousand  livres  for  themselves  and  their  men." 


96  THE   CHEVALIER    p'lIARMENTAL. 

"That  was  only  inifldlincj  p:iy,"  said  D'Harmental,  with 
a  disdainful  aiv, 

"  You  tliiuk  so,  chevalier?  Nevertheless  three  thou- 
sand livres  is  a  nice  little  sum." 

"Then  for  three  thousand  livres  you  would  have  under- 
taken it?  " 

"I  would  have  undertaken  it,"  answered  the  captain. 

"But  if,  instead  of  carrying  off  a  secretary,  it  had  been 
proposed  to  you  to  carry  off  a  duke?" 

"That  would  have  been  dearer." 

"But  you  would  have  undertaken  it  all  the  same?" 

"  Why  not  ?    I  should  have  asked  double,  —  that  is  all." 

"  And  if,  in  giving  you  double,  a  man  like  myself  had  said 
to  you,  'Captain,  it  is  not  an  obscure  danger  that  1  plunge 
you  into;  it  is  a  struggle  in  which  I  am  myself  engaged, 
like  you,  and  in  which  I  venture  my  name,  my  future,  and 
my  head,'  — what  would  you  have  answered?" 

"I  would  have  given  him  my  hand,  as  I  now  give  it 
you.     Now  what  is  the  business?  " 

The  chevalier  filled  his  own  glass  and  that  of  the 
captain. 

"To  the  health  of  the  regent,"  said  he,  "and  may  he 
arrive  without  accident  at  the  Spanish  frontier,  as  Mat- 
thioli  arrived  at  Pignerol." 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  the  captain,  raising  his  glass.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "And  why  not?"  continued  he,  "the  regent 
is  but  a  man  after  all.  Only  we  shall  neither  be  hung  nor 
decapitated;  we  shall  be  broken  on  the  wheel.  To  any 
one  else  I  should  say  that  a  regent  would-be  dearer,  but  to 
you,  chevalier,  I  have  only  one  price.  Give  me  six  thou- 
sand livres,   and  I  will  find  a  dozen  determined  men." 

"But  those  twelve  men,  do  you  think  that  you  may 
trust  them?" 

"What  need  for  their  knowing  what  they  are  doing? 
They  shall  think  they  are  only  carrying  out  a  wager." 

"And  I,"  answered  D'Harmental,  "will  show  you  that 
I  do  not  haggle  with  my  friends.     Here  are  two  thousand 


THE   AGREEMENT.  97 

crowns  in  gold,  take  them  on  account  if  we  succeed;  if  we 
fail,  we  will  cry  quits." 

"Chevalier,"  answered  the  captain,  taking  the  bag  of 
money  and  poising  it  on  his  hand  witii  an  indescribable 
air  of  satisfaction,  "I  will  not  do  you  the  injustice  of 
counting  after  you.     When  is  the  aifair  to  be?" 

"I  do  not  know  yet,  captain;  but  if  you  find  the 
pate  to  your  taste,  and  the  wine  good,  and  if  you  will 
do  me  the  pleasure  of  breakfasting  with  me  every  day 
as  you  have  done  to-day,  I  will  keep  you  informed  of 
everything." 

"That  would  not  do,  chevalier,"  said  the  captain.  "I 
should  not  have  come  to  you  three  mornings  before  the 
police  of  that  cursed  Argenson  would  have  found  us  out. 
Luckily  he  has  found  some  one  as  clever  as  himself,  and 
it  will  be  some  time  before  we  are  at  the  bar  together. 
No,  no,  chevalier,  from  now  till  the  moment  for  action, 
the  less  we  see  of  each  other  the  better;  or  rather,  we 
must  not  see  each  other  at  all.  Your  street  is  not  a  long 
one,  and  as  it  opens  at  one  end  on  the  Rue  du  Gros  Chenet, 
and  at  the  other  on  the  Rue  Montmartre,  I  shall  have  no 
reason  for  coming  through  it.  Here,"  continued  he,  de- 
taching his  shoulder  knot,  "  take  this  ribbon.  The  day 
that  you  want  me,  tie  it  to  a  nail  outside  your  window.  I 
shall  understand  it,  and  I  will  come  to  you." 

"How,  captain!"  said  D'Harmental,  seeing  that  his 
companion  was  fastening  on  his  sword.  "Are  you  going 
without  finishing  the  bottle?  What  has  the  wine,  which 
you  appeared  to  appreciate  so  much  a  little  while  ago, 
done  to  you  that  you  despise  it  so  now?" 

"It  is  just  because  I  appreciate  it  still  that  I  separate 
myself  from  it;  and  the  proof  that  I  do  not  despise  it," 
said  the  captain,  filling  his  glass,  "  is  that  I  am  going  to 
take  an  adieu  of  it.  To  your  health,  chevalier;  you  may 
boast  of  having  good  wine.  Hum  !  And  now,  n — o,  no, 
that  is  all.  I  shall  take  to  water  till  I  see  the  ribbon 
flutter  from  your  window.     Try  to  let  it  be  as  soon  as 

7 


98  THE    CHEVALIER    d'IIARMENTAL. 

possible,  for  water  is  a  liquid  that  does  not  suit  my 
constitution.'" 

"But  why  do  you  go  so  soon?" 

"Because  I  know  Captain  Roquefinette.  He  is  a  good 
fellow;  but  when  he  sits  down  before  a  bottle  he  must 
drink,  and  when  he  has  drunk  he  must  talk;  and,  however 
well  one  talks,  remember  that  those  who  talk  much  always 
finish  by  making  some  blunder.  Adieu,  chevalier.  Do 
not  forget  the  crimson  ribbon;  I  go  to  look  after  our 
business." 

"Adieu,  captain,"  said  D'Harmeutal,  "I  am  pleased  to 
see  that  I  have  no  need  to  preach  discretion  to  you." 

The  captain  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  mouth 
with  his  right  thumb,  placed  his  hat  straight  on  his  head, 
raised  his  sword  for  fear  of  its  making  a  noise  or  beating 
against  the  wall,  and  went  down  stairs  as  silently  as  if 
he  had  feared  that  every  step  would  echo  in  the  Hôtel 
d'Argenson. 


PROS   AND   CONS.  99 


CHAPTER  XI. 


PROS    AND   CONS. 


The  chevalier  remained  alone;  but  this  time  there  waa 
in  what  had  just  passed  between  himself  and  the  captaiu 
sufficient  matter  for  reflection  to  render  it  unnecessary  for 
him  to  have  recourse  either  to  the  poetry  of  the  Abbé 
Chaulieu,  his  harpsichord,  or  his  chalks.  Indeed,  until 
now,  he  had  been  only  half  engaged  in  the  hazardous 
enterprise  of  which  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  and  the  Prince 
de  Cellamare  had  shown  him  the  happy  ending,  and  of 
which  the  captain,  in  order  to  try  his  courage,  had  so 
brutally  exhibited  to  him  the  bloody  catastrophe.  As 
yet  he  had  only  been  the  end  of  a  chain,  and,  on  breaking 
away  from  one  side,  he  would  have  been  loose.  N"ow  he 
was  become  an  intermediate  ring,  fastened  at  both  ends, 
and  attached  at  the  same  time  to  people  above  and  below 
him  in  society.  In  a  word,  from  this  hour  he  no  longer 
belonged  to  himself,  and  he  was  like  the  Alpine  traveller 
who,  having  lost  his  way,  stops  in  the  middle  of  an  un- 
known road  and  measures  with  his  eye,  for  the  first  time, 
the  mountain  which  rises  above  him  and  the  gulf  which 
yawns  beneath  his  feet. 

Luckily  the  chevalier  had  the  calm,  cold,  and  resolute 
courage  of  a  man  in  whom  fire  and  determination  —  those 
two  opposite  forces  —  instead  of  neutralising,  stimulated 
each  other.  He  engaged  in  danger  with  all  the  rapidity 
of  a  sanguine  man  ;  he  weighed  it  with  all  the  considera- 
tion of  a  phlegmatic  one.  Madame  du  Maine  was  right 
when  she  said  to  Madame  de  Launay  that  she  might  put 
out  her  lanthorn,  and  that  she  believed  she  had  at  last 
found  a  man. 


100  THE    CIIEVALIKR   d'IIARMENTAL. 

But  this  man  was  young,  twenty-six  years  of  age,  with 
a  heart  open  to  all  the  illusions  and  all  the  poetry  of  that 
first  part  of  existence.  As  a  child  he  had  laid  down  his 
playthings  at  the  feet  of  his  mother.  As  a  young  man 
he  had  come  to  exhibit  his  handsome  uniform  as  colonel 
to  the  eyes  of  his  mistress;  indeed,  in  every  enterprise  of 
his  life  some  loved  image  had  gone  before  him,  and  he 
threw  himself  into  danger  with  the  certainty  that,  if  he 
succiimbed,  there  would  be  some  one  surviving  wlio  would 
mourn  his  fate. 

But  his  mother  was  dead,  the  last  woman  by  whom  he 
had  believed  himself  loved  had  betrayed  him,  and  he  felt 
alone  in  the  world,  — bound  solely  by  interest  to  men  to 
whom  he  would  become  an  obstacle  as  soon  as  he  ceased 
to  be  an  instrument,  and  who,  if  he  broke  down,  far  from 
mourning  his  loss,  would  only  see  in  it  a  cause  of  satis- 
faction. But  this  isolated  position,  which  ought  to  be  the 
envy  of  all  men  in  a  great  danger,  is  almost  always  (such 
is  the  egotism  of  our  nature)  a  cause  of  the  most  profound 
discouragement.  Such  is  the  horror  of  nothingness  in  man, 
that  he  believes  he  still  survives  in  the  sentiments  which 
he  has  inspired,  and  he  in  some  measure  consoles  himself 
for  leaving  the  world  by  thinking  of  the  regrets  which  will 
accompany  his  memory,  and  of  the  pity  which  will  visit 
his  tomb.  Thus  at  this  instant  the  chevalier  would  have 
given  everything  to  be  loved,  if  it  was  only  by  a  dog. 

He  was  plunged  in  the  saddest  of  these  reflections  when, 
passing  and  repassing  before  his  window,  he  noticed  that 
his  neighbour's  was  open.  He  stopped  suddenly,  and 
shook  his  head,  as  if  to  cast  off  the  most  sombre  of  these 
thoughts;  then,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table  and  his 
head  on  his  hand,  he  tried  to  give  a  different  direction  to 
his  thoughts  by  looking  at  exterior  objects. 

The  young  girl  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  morning  was 
seated  near  her  window,  in  order  to  benefit  by  the  last 
rays  of  daylight;  she  was  working  at  some  kind  of 
embroidery.     Behind  her  the  harpsichord  was  open,  and, 


PROS  AND  CONS.  101 

on  a  stool  at  her  feet,  her  greyhound  slept  the  light  sleep 
of  an  anima,]  destined  by  nature  to  be  the  guard  of  man, 
waking  at  every  noise  which  arose  from  the  street,  raising 
its  ears,  and  stretching  out  its  elegant  head  over  the 
window-sill;  then  it  lay  down  again,  placing  one  of  its 
little  paws  upon  its  mistress's  knees.  All  this  was  deli- 
ciously  lighted  up  by  the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun,  which 
penetrated  into  the  room,  sparkling  on  the  steel  ornaments 
of  the  harpsichord  and  the  gold  beading  of  the  picture- 
frames.     The  resb  was  in  twilight. 

Then  it  seemed  to  the  chevalier  (doubtless  on  account 
of  the  disposition  of  mind  he  was  in  when  this  picture  had 
struck  his  eye)  that  this  young  girl,  with  the  calm  and 
sweet  face,  entered  into  his  life  like  one  of  those  person- 
ages who  always  remain  behind  a  veil,  and  make  their 
entrance  on  a  piece  in  the  second  or  third  act  to  take  part 
in  the  action,  and  sometimes  to  change  the  dénouement. 

Since  the  age  when  one  sees  angels  in  one's  dreams,  he 
had  seen  no  one  like  her.  She  was  a  mixture  of  beauty, 
candour,  and  simplicity,  such  as  Greuze  has  copied,  not 
from  nature,  but  from  the  reflections  in  the  mirror  of  his 
imagination.  Then,  forgetting  everything,  the  humble 
condition  in  which  without  doubt  she  had  been  born,  the 
street  where  he  had  found  her,  the  modest  room  which  she 
had  inhabited,  seeing  nothing  in  the  woman  except  the 
woman  herself,  he  attributed  to  her  a  heart  corresponding 
with  her  face,  and  thought  what  would  be  the  happiness 
of  the  man  who  should  first  cause  that  heart  to  beat;  who 
should  be  looked  upon  Avith  love  by  those  beautiful  eyes, 
and  who,  in  the  words,  "I  love  you!"  should  gather  from 
those  lips,  so  fresh  and  so  pure,  that  flower  of  the  soul, 
a  first  kiss. 

Such  are  the  different  aspects  which  the  same  objects 
borrow  from  the  situation  of  him  who  looks  at  them.  A 
week  before,  in  the  midst  of  his  gaiety,  in  his  life  which 
no  danger  menaced,  between  a  breakfast  at  the  tavern 
and  a  stag-hunt,  between  a  wager  at  tennis  and  a  supper 


102  TlIK    CIFEVALIKi:    d'iIARMENTAL. 

at  La  Fiilou's,  if  D'Harmental  had  met  this  young  girl, 
he  would  doubtless  have  seen  in  her  nothing  but  a  charm- 
ing grisette,  whom  he  would  have  had  followed  by  his 
valet  de  chambre,  and  to  whom  the  next  day  he  would 
have  outrageously  offered  a  present  of  some  twenty-five 
louis. 

But  the  D'Harmental  of  a  week  ago  existed  no  more. 
In  the  place  of  the  handsome  seigneur  —  elegant,  wild, 
dissipated,  and  certain  of  life  —  was  an  insulated  young 
man,  walking  in  the  shade,  alone,  and  self-reliant,  without 
a  star  to  guide  him,  who  might  suddenly  feel  the  earth 
open  under  his  feet  and  the  heavens  burst  above  his  head. 
He  had  need  of  a  support,  so  feeble  was  he  ;  he  had  need 
of  love,  he  had  need  of  poetry.  It  was  not  then  wonderful 
that,  searching  for  a  Madonna  to  whom  to  address  his 
prayers,  he  raised  in  his  imagination  this  young  and  beau- 
tiful girl  from  the  material  and  prosaic  sphere  in  which 
he  found  her,  and  that,  drawing  her  into  his  own,  he 
placed  her,  not  such  as  she  was,  doubtless,  but  such  as 
he  wished  her  to  be,  on  the  empty  pedestal  of  his  past 
adorations. 

All  at  once  the  young  girl  raised  her  head,  and  hap- 
pened to  look  in  his  direction,  and  saw  the  pensive  figure 
of  the  chevalier  through  the  glass.  It  appeared  evident 
to  her  that  the  young  man  remained  there  for  her,  and 
that  it  was  at  her  he  was  looking.  Then  a  bright  blush 
spread  over  her  face.  Still  she  pretended  she  had  seen 
nothing,  and  bent  her  head  once  more  over  her  embroidery. 
But  a  minute  afterwards  she  rose,  took  a  few  turns  round 
her  room;  then,  without  affectation,  without  false  pru- 
dery, but  nevertheless  with  a  certain  embarrassment,  she 
returned  and  shut  the  window.  D'Harmental  remained 
where  he  was,  and  as  he  was;  continuing,  in  spite  of  the 
shutting  of  the  window,  to  advance  into  the  imaginary 
country  where  his  thoughts  were  straying. 

Once  or  twice  he  thought  that  he  saw  the  curtain  of  liis 
neighbour's   window    raised,   as    if  she   wished   to   know 


PROS    AND    CONS.  103 

whether  he  whose  indiscretion  had  driven  her  from  her 
place  was  still  at  his.  At  last  a  few  masterly  chords 
were  heard;  a  sweet  harmony  followed;  and  it  was  then 
D'Harmental  who  opened  his  window  in  his  turn. 

He  had  not  been  mistaken,  his  neighbour  was  an  admi- 
rable musician;  she  executed  two  or  three  little  pieces,  but 
without  blending  her  voice  witli  the  sound  of  the  instru- 
ment; and  D'Harmental  found  almost  as  much  pleasure  in 
listening  to  her  as  he  had  fouud  in  looking  at  her.  Sud- 
denly she  stopped  in  the  midst  of  a  passage.  D'Harmental 
supposed  either  that  she  had  seen  him  at  his  window, 
and  wished  to  punish  him  for  his  curiosity,  or  that  some 
one  had  come  in  and  interrupted  her.  He  retired  into 
his  room,  but  so  as  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  window,  and 
soon  discovered  that  his  last  supposition  was  the  true 
one. 

A  man  came  to  the  window,  raised  the  curtain,  and 
pressed  his  fat,  good-natured  face  against  the  glass, 
whilst  with  one  hand  he  beat  a  march  against  the  panes. 
The  chevalier  recognised,  in  spite  of  a  sensible  difference 
which  there  was  in  his  toilet,  the  man  of  the  water-jet 
whom  he  had  seen  on  the  terrace  in  the  morning,  and  who, 
with  a  perfect  air  of  familiarity,  had  twice  pronounced  the 
name  of  "Bathilde." 

This  apparition,  more  than  prosaic,  produced  the  effect 
which  might  naturally  have  been  expected;  that  is  to  say, 
it  brought  D'Harmental  back  from  imaginary  to  real  life. 
He  had  forgotten  this  man,  who  made  such  a  strange  and 
perfect  contrast  with  the  young  girl,  and  who  must  doubt- 
less be  either  her  father,  her  lover,  or  her  husband.  But 
in  either  of  these  cases  what  could  there  be  in  common 
between  the  daughter,  the  wife,  or  the  mistress  of  such  a 
man,  and  the  noble  and  aristocratic  chevalier?  The  wife! 
It  is  a  misfortune  of  her  dependent  situation  that  she  rises 
and  falls  according  to  the  grandeur  or  vulgarity  of  him  on 
whose  arm  she  leans;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the 
gardener  was  not  formed  to  maintain  poor  Bathilde  at  the 


104  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HAHMENTAL. 

height  to  which  the  chevalier  had  raised  her  in  his 
dreams. 

Then  he  began  to  laugh  at  his  own  folly;  and  the  night 
having  arrived,  and  as  he  had  not  been  outside  tlie  door 
since  the  day  before,  he  determined  to  take  a  walk  through 
the  town  in  order  to  assure  himself  of  the  truth  of  the 
Prince  de  Cellamare's  reports.  He  wrapped  himself  in 
his  cloak,  descended  the  four  stories,  and  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  Luxembourg,  where  the  note  which  the  Abbé 
Brigand  had  brought  him  in  the  morning  said  that  the 
regent  was  going  to  supper  without  guards. 

Arrived  opposite  the  palace  of  the  Luxembourg,  the 
chevalier  saw  none  of  those  signs  which  should  announce 
that  the  Due  d'Orléans  was  at  his  daughter's  house:  there 
was  only  one  sentinel  at  the  door,  whilst  from  the  moment 
that  the  regent  entered  a  second  was  generally  placed 
there.  Besides,  he  saw  no  carriage  waiting  in  the  court, 
no  footmen  or  outriders;  it  was  evident,  then,  that  he  had 
not  come.  The  chevalier  waited  to  see  him  pass,  for,  as 
the  regent  never  breakfasted,  and  took  nothing  but  a  cup 
of  chocolate  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  he  rarely 
supped  later  than  six  o'clock;  but  a  quarter  to  six  had 
struck  at  the  St.  Sulpice  at  the  moment  when  the  chev- 
alier turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Condé  and  the 
Rue  de  Vaugirard. 

The  chevalier  waited  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  Rue  de 
Tournon,  going  from  the  Rue  du  Petit  Lion  to  the  palace, 
without  seeing  what  he  had  come  to  look  for.  At  a 
quarter  to  eight  he  saw  some  movement  in  the  Luxem- 
bourg. A  carriage,  with  outriders  armed  with  torches, 
came  to  the  foot  of  the  steps.  A  minute  after  three  women 
got  in;  he  heard  the  coachman  call  to  the  outriders,  "To 
the  Palais  Royal,"  and  the  outriders  set  off  at  a  gallop  ; 
the  carriage  followed,  the  sentinel  presented  arms;  and, 
quickly  as  the  elegant  equipage  with  the  royal  arms  of 
France  passed,  the  clievalier  recognised  the  Duchesse 
de  Berry,  Madame  de  Mouchy,  her  lady  of  honour,  and 
Madame  de  Pons,  her  tirewoman. 


PEOS   AND   CONS.  105 

There  had  been  an  important  error  in  the  report  sent  to 
the  chevalier;  it  was  tlie  daughter  who  went  to  the  father, 
not  the  father  who  came  to  the  daughter. 

Nevertheless,  the  chevalier  still  waited,  for  some  acci- 
dent might  have  happened  to  the  regent  which  detained 
him  at  home.  An  hour  after  he  saw  the  carriage  repass. 
The  Duchesse  de  Berry  was  laughing  at  a  story  which 
Broglie  was  telling  her.  There  had  not  then  been  any 
serious  accident;  it  was  the  police  of  the  Prince  de  Cella- 
mare,  then,  that  were  at  fault. 

The  chevalier  returned  home  about  ten  o'clock  without 
having  been  met  or  recognised.  He  had  some  trouble  to 
get  the  door  opened,  for,  according  to  the  patriarchal 
habits  of  Madame  Denis's  house,  the  porter  had  gone 
to  bed,  and  came  out  grumbling  to  unfasten  the  bolts. 
D'Harmental  slipped  a  crown  into  his  hand,  saying  to 
him,  once  for  all,  that  he  should  sometimes  return  late, 
but  that  each  time  that  he  did  so  he  would  give  him  the 
same;  upon  which  the  porter  thanked  him,  and  assured 
him  that  he  was  perfectly  welcome  to  come  home  at  any 
time  he  liked,  or  even  not  to  return  at  all.  On  returning 
to  his  room,  D'Harmental  saw  that  his  neighbour's  was 
lighted  up;  he  placed  his  candle  behind  apiece  of  furni- 
ture, and  approached  the  window,  so  that  he  could  see  into 
her  room  as  much  as  the  muslin  curtains  allowed,  while 
she  could  not  see  into  his. 

She  was  seated  near  a  table,  drawing,  probably,  on  a 
card  which  she  held  on  her  knees,  for  he  saw  her  profile 
standing  out  black  against  the  light  behind  her.  Shortly 
another  shadow,  which  the  chevalier  recognised  as  that 
of  the  good  man  of  the  terrace,  passed  twice  between  the 
light  and  the  window.  At  last  the  shade  approached  the 
young  girl,  she  offered  her  forehead,  the  shadow  imprinted 
a  kiss  on  it,  and  went  away,  with  his  candle  in  his  hand. 
Directly  afterwards  the  windows  of  the  fifth  story  were 
lighted  up.  All  these  little  circumstances  spoke  a  lan- 
guage which  it  was   impossible  not  to   understand.     The 


106  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HAKiMENTAL. 

man  of  tho  terrace  was  not  the  husband  of  Bathilde,   he 
must  be  her  father. 

D'Harmental,  without  knowing  why,  felt  overjoyed  at 
this  discovery;  lie  opened  his  window  as  softly  as  he 
could,  and  leaned  on  the  bar,  which  served  him  as  a  sup- 
port, with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  shadow.  He  fell  into  the 
same  reverie  out  of  which  he  had  been  startled  that  morning 
by  the  grotesque  apparition  of  his  neighbour.  In  about  an 
hour  the  girl  rose,  put  down  her  card  and  crayons  on  the 
table,  advanced  towards  the  alcove,  knelt  on  a  chair  before 
the  second  window,  and  offered  up  her  prayers.  D'Har- 
mental  understood  that  her  laborious  watch  was  finished, 
but,  remembering  the  curiosity  of  his  beautiful  neighbour 
when  he  had  begun  to  play  the  first  time,  he  wished  to  see 
it  he  could  prolong  that  watch,  and  he  sat  down  to  his 
spinet.  What  he  had  foreseen  happened;  at  the  first 
notes  which  reached  her,  the  young  girl,  not  knowing  that 
from  the  position  of  the  light  he  could  see  her  shadow 
through  the  curtains,  approached  the  window  on  tip-toe, 
and,  thinking  herself  hidden,  she  listened  to  the  melodious 
instrument  which,  like  the  nightingale,  awoke  to  sing  in 
the  middle  of  the  night. 

The  concert  would  have  probably  continued  thus  for 
some  hours,  for  D'Harmental,  encouraged  by  the  result 
produced,  felt  an  energy  and  an  ease  of  execution  such  as 
he  had  never  known  before.  Unluckily,  the  occupier  of 
the  third  floor  was  undoubtedly  some  clown,  no  lover  of 
music,  for  D'Harmental  heard  suddenly,  just  below  his 
feet,  the  noise  of  a  stick  knocking  on  the  ceiling  with  such 
violence  that  he  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  a  warning  to 
him  to  put  off  his  melodious  occupation  till  a  more  suit- 
able period.  Under  other  circumstances,  D'Harmental 
would  have  sent  the  impertinent  adviser  to  the  devil;  but 
reflecting  that  any  ill-feeling  on  the  lodger's  part  would 
injure  his  own  reputation  with  Madame  Denis,  and  that 
he  was  playing  too  heavy  a  game  to  risk  being  recognised, 
and  not  to  submit  philosophically  to  all  the  inconveniences 


PROS    AND    CONS.  107 

of  the  new  position  which  he  had  adopted,  instead  of 
setting  himself  in  opposition  to  the  rules  established  with- 
out doubt  between  JNIadame  Denis  and  her  lodgers,  he 
obeyed  the  intimation,  forgetting  in  what  manner  that 
intimation  had  been  given  him. 

On  her  part,  as  soon  as  she  heard  nothing  more,  the 
young  gild  left  the  window,  and  as  she  let  the  inner  cur- 
tains fall  behind  her  she  disappeared  from  D'Harmental's 
eyes.  For  some  time  longer  he  could  still  see  a  light  in 
her  room;  then  the  light  was  extinguished.  As  to  the 
window  on  the  fifth  floor,  for  some  time  that  had  been  in 
the  most  perfect  darkness.  D'Harmental  also  went  to 
bed,  joyous  to  think  that  there  existed  a  point  of  sym- 
pathy between  himself  and  his  neighbour. 

The  next  day  the  Abbé  Brigaud  entered  the  room  with 
his  accustomed  punctuality.  The  chevalier  had  already 
been  up  more  than  an  hour;  he  had  gone  twenty  times  to 
his  window,  but  without  seeing  his  neighbour,  although 
it  was  evident  that  she  was  up,  even  before  himself; 
indeed,  on  waking  he  had  seen  the  large  curtains  put  up 
in  their  bands.  Thus  he  was  disposed  to  let  out  his  ill- 
humour  on  any  one. 

"  Ah  !  pardieu  !  my  dear  abbé  !  "  said  he,  as  soon  as  the 
door  was  shut;  ''congratulate  the  prince  for  me  on  his 
police;  it  is  perfectly  arranged,  on  my  honour!" 

"What  have  you  got  against  them?"  asked  the  abbé, 
with  the  half-smile  which  was  habitual  to  him. 

"What  have  1!  I  have,  that,  wishing  to  judge  for 
myself  last  evening'  of  its  truth,  I  went  and  hid  myself 
in  the  Rue  de  Tournon.  I  remained  there  four  hours,  and 
it  was  not  the  regent  who  came  to  his  daughter,  but 
Madame  de  Berry  who  went  to  her  father." 

"Well,  we  know  that."  ' 

"Ah!  you  know  that!"  said  D'Harmental. 

"Yes,  and  by  this  token,  that  she  left  the  Luxembourg 
at  five  minutes  to  eight,  with  Madame  de  Mouchy  and 
Madame  de  Pons,  and  that  she  returned  at  half-past  nine, 


108  TIIK   CIIKVALIEll    l/lIARMENTAL. 

bringing  Broglie  with  lier,  who  came  to  take  the  regent's 
place  at  table." 

"And  where  was  the  regent?" 

"The  regent?" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  another  story;  you  shall  learn.  Listen,  and 
do  not  lose  a  word;  then  we  shall  see  if  you  will  say  that 
the  prince's  police  is  badly  arranged." 

"I  attend." 

"Our  report  announced  that  at  three  o'clock  the  duke 
regent  would  go  to  play  tennis  in  the  Rue  de  Seine."    • 

"Yes." 

"He  went.  Tn  about  half  an  hour  he  left,  holding  his 
handkerchief  over  his  eyes.  He  had  hit  himself  on  the 
brow  with  the  racket,  and  with  such  violence  that  he  had 
torn  the  skin  of  his  forehead." 

"  Ah,  this  then  was  the  accident  !  " 

"Listen.  Then  the  regent,  instead  of  returning  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  was  driven  to  the  house  of  Madame  de 
Sabran.     You  know  where  Madame  de  Sabran  lives  ?  " 

"She  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon,  but  since  her 
husband  has  become  maître  dliôtel  to  the  regent,  she 
lives  in  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  near  the  Palais 
Royal." 

"Exactly;  but  it  seems  that  Madame  de  Sabran,  who 
until  now  was  faithful  to  Richelieu,  was  touched  by  the 
pitiable  state  in  which  she  saw  the  prince,  and  wished  to 
justify  the  proverb,  'Unlucky  at  play,  lucky  at  love.' 
The  prince,  by  a  little  note,  dated  half-past  seven,  from 
the  drawing-room  of  Madame  de  Sabran,  with  whom  he 
supped,  announced  to  Broglie  that  he  should  not  go  to  the 
Luxembourg,  and  charged  him  to  go  in  his  stead,  and 
make  his  excuses  to  the  Duchesse  de  Berry." 

"Ah,  this  then  was  the  story  which  Broglie  was  telling, 
and  at  which  the  ladies  were  laughing." 

"It  is  probable;  now  do  you  understand?" 

"Yes;  I  understand  that  the  regent  is  not  possessed  of 


PROS    AND    CONS.  109 

ubiquity,  and  could  not  be  at  the  house  of  Madame  de 
Sabran  and  at  his  daughter's  at  the  same  time." 

"  And  you  only  understand  that  ?  " 

"My  dear  abbé,  you  speak  like  an  oracle;  explain 
yourself." 

"This  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  I  will  come  for  you; 
we  will  go  to  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants  together.  To  me 
the  locality  is  eloquent." 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  D'Harmental,  "I  see;  so  near  the 
Palais  lioyal,  he  will  go  on  foot.  The  hôtel  which 
IVIadame  de  Sabran  inhabits  has  an  entrance  from  the  Rue 
des  Bons  Enfants  ;  after  a  certain  hour  they  shut  the  pas- 
sage from  the  Palais  Royal,  which  opens  on  the  Rue  des 
Bons  Enfants;  and  he  will  be  obliged  on  his  return  to 
follow  either  the  Cour  des  Fontaines  or  the  Rue  Neuve 
des  Bons  Enfants,  and  then  we  shall  have  him.  Mordieit  ! 
you  are  a  great  man,  and  if  Monsieur  du  Maine  does  not 
make  you  cardinal,  or  at  least  archbishop,  there  will  be 
no  justice  done." 

"I  think,  therefore,  that  now  you  must  hold  yourself 
in  readiness." 

"I  am  ready." 

"  Have  you  the  means  of  execution  prepared?  '* 

"I  have." 

"Then  you  can  correspond  with  your  men?" 

"By  a  sign." 

"And  that  sign  cannot  betray  you?" 

"Impossible." 

"  Then  all  goes  well,  and  we  may  have  breakfast  ;  for  I 
was  in  such  haste  to  tell  you  the  good  news  that  I  came 
out  fasting." 

"Breakfast,  my  dear  abbé!  you  speak  coolly;  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  you,  except  the  remains  of  the  pate  and 
two  or  three  bottles  of  wine  which,  I  believe,  survived 
the  battle." 

"Hum!  hum!"  murmured  the  abbé;  "we  will  do  better 
than  that,  my  dear  chevalier." 


no  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"I  am  at  your  orders." 

"  Let  us  go  down  and  breakfast  with  our  good  hostess, 
Madame  Denis." 

"And  why  do  you  want  me  to  breakfast  with  her?  Do 
I  know  her?" 

"That  concerns  me.  I  shall  present  you  as  my 
pupil." 

"But  we  shall  get  a  detestable  breakfast." 

"Comfort  yourself.     I  know  her  table." 

"But  this  breakfast  will  be  tiresome." 

"But  you  will  make  a  friend  of  a  woman  much  known 
in  the  neighbourhood  for  her  good  conduct,  for  her  devo- 
tion to  the  government, —  a  woman  incapable  of  harbour- 
ing a  conspirator.     Do  you  understand  that?" 

"If  it  be  for  the  good  of  the  cause,  abbé,  I  sacrifice 
myself." 

"Moreover,  it  is  a  very  agreeable  house,  where  there 
are  two  young  people  who  play, —  one  on  the  spinet,  and 
the  other  on  the  guitar,  —  and  a  young  man  who  is  an 
attorney's  clerk;  a  house  where  you  may  go  down  on  Sun- 
day evenings  to  play  lots." 

"Go  to  the  devil  with  your  Madame  Denis.  Ah! 
pardon,  abbé,  perhaps  you  are  her  friend.  In  that  case, 
imagine  that  I  have  said  nothing." 

"I  am  her  confessor,"  replied  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  with 
a  modest  air. 

"Then  a  thousand  excuses,  my  dear  abbé;  but  you  are 
right  indeed.  Madame  Denis  is  still  a  beautiful  woman, 
perfectly  well  preserved,  with  superb  hands  and  very 
pretty  feet.  Peste  !  I  remember  that.  Go  down  first  ;  I 
will  follow." 

"  Why  not  together  ?  " 

"But  my  toilet,  abbé.  Would  you  have  me  appear 
before  the  Demoiselles  Denis  with  my  hair  in  its  present 
state?  One  must  try  to  look  one's  best, —  que  diable! 
Besides,  it  is  better  that  you  should  announce  me  :  I  have 
not  a  confessor's  privilege." 


PROS    AND    CONS.  Ill 

"You  are  right.  I  will  go  down  and  announce  you,  and 
in  ten  minutes  you  will  arrive  —  will  you  not  ?" 

"In  ten  minutes." 

"Adieu!" 

"  Au  revoir  !  " 

The  chevalier  had  only  told  half  the  truth.  He  might 
have  remained  partly  to  dress,  but  also  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  his  beautiful  neighbour,  of  whom  he  had  dreamed 
all  the  night,  but  in  vain.  He  remained  hidden  behind 
the  curtains  of  his  window:  those  of  the  young  girl  with 
the  fair  hair  and  the  beautiful  black  eyes  remained  closed. 
It  is  true  that,  in  exchange,  he  could  perceive  his  neigh- 
bour, who,  opening  his  door,  passed  out,  with  the  same 
precaution  as  the  day  before,  first  his  hand,  then  his  head; 
but  this  time  his  boldness  went  no  further,  for  there  was 
a  slight  fog,  and  fog  is  essentially  contrary  to  the  organ- 
isation of  the  Parisian  bourgeois.  Our  friend  coughed 
twice,  and  then,  drawing  in  his  head  and  his  arm,  re- 
entered  his  room  like  a  tortoise  into  his  shell.  D'Har- 
mental  saw  with  pleasure  that  he  might  dispense  with 
buying  a  barometer,  and  that  this  neighbour  would  render 
him  the  same  service  as  the  butterflies  which  come  out  in 
the  sunshine,  and  remain  obstinately  shut  up  in  their 
hermitages  on  the  days  when  it  rains. 

The  apparition  had  its  ordinary  effect,  and  reacted  on 
poor  Bathilde.  Every  time  that  D'Harmental  perceived 
the  young  girl,  there  was  in  her  such  a  sweet  attraction 
that  he  saw  nothing  but  the  woman, —  young,  beautiful, 
and  graceful,  a  musician  and  painter,  —  that  is  to  say,  the 
most  delicious  and  complete  creature  he  had  ever  met. 
But  when,  in  his  turn,  the  man  of  the  terrace  presented 
himself  to  the  chevalier's  gaze,  with  his  common  face, 
his  insignificant  figure, —  that  indelible  type  of  vulgarity 
which  attaches  to  certain  individuals, —  directly  a  sort  of 
miraculous  transition  took  place  in  the  chevalier's  mind. 
All  the  poetry  disappeared,  as  a  machinist's  whistle  causes 
the  disappearance  of  a  fairy  palace.     Everything  was  seen 


112  THE  CHEVALIEK   D'HAUMENTAL. 

by  a  different  light.  D'Harmental's  native  aristocracy 
regained  the  ascendency.  Bathilde  was  then  nothing  but 
the  daughter  of  this  man, —  that  is  to  say,  a  grisette:  her 
beauty,  her  grace,  her  elegance,  even  her  talents,  were  but 
an  accident,  an  error  of  nature, —  something  like  a  rose 
flowering  on  a  cabbage-stalk.  The  chevalier  shrugged  his 
shoulders  as  he  stood  before  the  glass,  began  to  laugh,  and 
to  wonder  at  the  impression  which  he  had  received.  He 
attributed  it  to  the  preoccupation  of  his  mind,  to  the 
strange  and  solitary  situation,  to  everything,  in  fact, 
except  its  true  cause,  the  sovereign  and  irresistible  power 
of  distinction  and  beauty.  D'Harmental  went  down  to  his 
hostess  disposed  to  find  the  Demoiselles  Denis  charming. 


THE   DENIS   FAMILY.  113 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    DENIS    FAMILY. 

Madame  Denis  did  not  think  it  proper  that  two  young 
persons  as  innocent  as  her  daughters  should  breakfast  with 
a  young  man  who,  although  he  had  been  only  three  days 
in  Paris,  already  came  in  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and 
played  ou  the  harpsichord  till  two  in  the  morning.  In 
vain  the  Abbé  Brigand  afl&rmed  that  this  double  infraction 
of  the  rules  of  her  house  should  in  no  degree  lower  her 
opinion  of  his  pupil,  for  whom  he  could  answer  as  for 
himself.  All  he  could  obtain  was  that  the  young  ladies 
should  appear  at  the  dessert;  but  the  chevalier  soon  per- 
ceived that,  if  their  mother  had  ordered  them  not  to  be 
seen,  she  had  not  forbidden  them  to  be  heard,  for  scarcely 
were  they  at  table,  round  a  veritable  devotee's  breakfast, 
composed  of  a  multitude  of  little  dishes  tempting  to  the 
eye  and  delicious  to  the  palate,  when  the  sounds  of  a 
spinet  were  heard  accompanying  a  voice  which  was  not 
wanting  in  compass,  but  whose  frequent  errors  of  intona- 
tion showed  lamentable  inexperience.  At  the  first  notes 
Madame  Denis  placed  her  hand  on  the  abbe's  arm,  then, 
after  an  instant's  silence,  during  which  she  listened  with 
a  pleased  smile  to  that  music  which  made  the  chevalier's 
flesh  creep,  ''  Do  you  hear  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  our  Athenais 
who  is  playing,  and  it  is  Emilie  who  sings." 

The  Abbé  Brigaud,  making  signs  that  he  heard  perfectly, 
trod  on  D'Harmental's  foot  under  the  table,  to  hint  that 
this  was  an  opportunity  for  paying  a  compliment. 

"Madame,"  said  the  chevalier,  who  understood  this 
appeal  to  his  politeness  perfectly,  "we  are  doubly  indebted 
to  you  ;  for  you  offer  us  not  only  an  excellent  breakfast, 
but  a  delightful  concert." 


114  THE    CIIEVALIEll    D'HAKMENTAL. 

"Yes,"  replied  Madame  Denis,  negligently,  "it  is  those 
children:  they  do  not  know  you  are  here,  and  they  are 
pra(!tising;  but  I  will  go  and  tell  them  to  stop." 

JMadanie  Denis  was  going  to  rise. 

"What,  madame!"  said  D'Harmental,  "  because  I  come 
from  liavenue  do  you  believe  me  unworthy  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  the  talents  of  the  capital  'i  " 

"  Heaven  preserve  nic,  monsieur,  from  having  such  an 
opinion  of  you,"  said  Madame  Denis,  maliciously,  "for  1 
know  you  are  a  musician;  the  lodger  on  the  third  story 
told  me  so." 

"  l\\  that  case,  madame,  perhaps  he  did  not  give  you  a 
very  high  idea  of  my  merit,"  replied  the  chevalier,  laugh- 
ing, "  for  he  did  not  appear  to  appreciate  the  little  I  may 
possess." 

"He  only  said  that  it  appeared  to  him  a  strange  time 
for  music.  But  listen,  Monsieur  Raoul,"  added  Madame 
Denis;  "the  parts  are  changed  now,  my  dear  abbé:  it  is 
our  Athenais  who  sings,  and  it  is  Emilie  who  accompanies 
her  on  the  guitar." 

It  appeared  that  Madame  Denis  had  a  weakness  for 
Athenais,  for  instead  of  talking  as  she  did  when  Emilie 
was  singing,  she  listened  from  one  end  to  the  other  to  the 
romance  of  her  favourite,  her  eyes  tenderly  fixed  on  the 
Abbé  Brigand,  who,  still  eating  and  drinking,  contented 
himself  with  nodding  his  head  in  sign  of  approbation. 
Athenais  sang  a  little  more  correctly  than  her  sister,  but 
for  this  she  made  up  by  a  defect  at  least  equivalent  in  the 
eyes  of  the  chevalier.     Her  voice  was  equally  vulgar. 

As  to  Madame  Denis,  she  beat  wrong  time  with  her 
head,  with  an  air  of  beatitude  which  did  infinitely  more 
honour  to  her  maternal  affection  than  to  her  musical 
intelligence. 

A  duet  succeeded  to  the  solos.  The  young  ladies 
appeared  determined  to  give  their  whole  répertoire. 
D'Harmental,  in  his  turn,  sought  under  the  table  for  the 
abbe's  foot,  to  crush  at  least  one;  but  he  only  found  those 


THE    DENIS    FAMILY.  115 

of  Madame  Denis,  wlio,  taking  this  for  a  personal  atten- 
tion,  turned  graciously  towards  him. 

"Then,  Monsieur  ilaoul,"  she  said,  "you  come,  young  and 
inexperienced,  to  brave  all  the  dangers  of  the  capital?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  taking  upon  himself  to 
answer,  for  fear  that  D'Harmental  might  not  be  able  to 
resist  answering  by  some  joke.  "Yuu  see  in  this  young 
man,  Madame  Denis,  the  son  of  a  friend  who  was  very 
dear  to  me,"  (the  abbé  put  his  table  napkin  up  to  his 
eyes,)  "and  who,  I  hope,  will  do  credit  to  the  care  I  have 
bestowed  on  his  education." 

"And  monsieur  is  right,"  replied  Madame  Denis;  "for, 
with  his  talents  and  appearance,  there  is  no  saying  to  what, 
he  may  attain." 

"Ah!  but,  Madame  Denis,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  "if 
you  spoil  him  thus,  I  shall  not  bring  him  to  you  again. 
My  dear  Kaoul,"  continued  the  abbé,  addressing  him  iu 
a  paternal  manner,  "I  hope  you  will  not  believe  a  word 
of  all  this."  Then,  whispering  to  Madame  Denis,  "Such 
as  you  see  him,  he  might  have  remained  at  Sauvigny,  and 
taken  the  first  place  after  the  squire.  He  has  three 
thousand  livres  a  year  in  the  funds." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  intend  giving  to  each  of  my 
daughters,"  replied  Madame  Denis,  raising  her  voice,  so 
as  to  be  heard  by  the  chevalier,  and  giving  a  side  glance 
to  discover  what  effect  the  announcement  of  such  magnifi' 
cence  would  have  upon  him. 

Unfortunately  for  the  future  establishment  of  the 
Demoiselles  Denis,  the  chevalier  was  not  thinking  of 
uniting  the  three  thousand  livres  which  this  generous 
mother  gave  to  her  daughters  to  the  thousand  crowns 
a  year  which  the  Abbé  Brigaud  had  bestowed  on  him. 
The  shrill  treble  of  Mademoiselle  Emilie,  the  contralto 
of  Mademoiselle  Athenais,  the  accompaniment  of  both, 
had  recalled  to  his  recollection  the  pure  and  flexible  voice 
and  the  distinguished  execution  of  his  neighbour.  Thanks 
to  that  singular  power  which  a  great  preoccupation  gives 


IIG  THE    CHEVALIER    d'HARMENTAL. 

US  over  exterior  objects,  tlie  chevalier  had  escaped  from 
the  charivari  which  was  executed  in  the  adjoining  room, 
and  was  following  a  sweet  melody  which  floated  in  his 
mind,  and  which  protected  him,  like  an  enchanted  armour, 
from  the  sharp  sounds  which  were  flying  around  him. 

"Plow  he  listens!"  said  Madame  Denis  to  Brigand. 
"  'ïis  worth  while  taking  trouble  fora  young  man  like 
that.  I  shall  have  a  bone  to  pick  with  Monsieur 
Fremond." 

"Who  is  Monsieur  Fremond?"  said  the  abbé,  pouring 
himself  out  something  to  drink. 

"It  is  the  lodger  on  the  third  floor.  A  contemptible 
little  fellow,  with  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year,  and 
whose  temper  has  caused  me  to  have  quarrels  with  every 
one  in  the  house  ;  and  who  came  to  complain  that  Mon- 
sieur Kaoul  prevented  him  and  his  dog  from  sleei)ing." 

"My  dear  Madame  Denis,"  replied  the  abbé,  "you  nnist 
not  quarrel  with  Monsieur  Fremond  for  that.  Two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  is  an  unreasonable  time;  and  if  my  pujiil 
must  sit  up  till  then,  he  must  play  in  the  daytime  and 
draw  in  the  evening." 

"What!  Monsieur  Kaoul  draws  also!"  cried  Madame 
Denis,  quite  astonished  at  so  much  talent. 

"Draws  like  Mignard." 

"Oh!  my  dear  abbé,"  said  Madame  Denis,  "if  you  could 
but  obtain  one  thing." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  abbé. 

"That  he  would  take  the  portrait  of  our  Athenais." 

The  chevalier  awoke  form  his  reverie,  as  a  traveller 
asleep  on  the  grass  feels  a  serpent  glide  up  to  him,  and 
instinctively  understands  that  a  great  danger  threatens 
him. 

"  Abbé  !  "  cried  he,  in  a  bewildered  manner,  "  no 
folly  !  " 

"  Oh  !  what  is  the  matter  with  your  pupil  ?  "  asked 
Madame   Denis,    quite   frightened. 

Happily,  at  the  moment  when  the  abbé  was  seeking  a 


THE   DENIS   FAMILY.  117 

subterfuge,  the  door  opened,  and  the  two  young  ladies 
entered  blushing,  and,  stepping  from  right  to  left,  each 
made  a  low  curtsey. 

"  Well  !  "  said  ûladame  Denis,  affecting  an  air  of 
severity,  "  what  is  this  ?  Who  gave  you  permssion  to 
leave  your  room  ?  " 

"Mamma,"  replied  a  voice  which  the  chevalier  recog- 
nised by  its  shrill  tones  for  that  of  Mademoiselle  Emilie, 
"we  beg  pardon  if  we  have  done  wrong,  and  are  willing 
to  return." 

"But,  mamma,"  said  another  voice,  which  the  chevalier 
concluded  must  belong  to  Mademoiselle  Athenais,  "we 
thought  that  it  was  agreed  that  we  were  to  come  in  at 
dessert." 

"  Well,  come  in,  since  you  are  here  ;  it  would  be  ridic- 
ulous now  to  go  back.  Besides,"  added  Madame  Denis, 
seating  Athenais  between  herself  and  Brigand,  and  Emilie 
between  herself  and  the  chevalier,  "young  persons  are 
always  best  —  are  they  not,  abbé? — under  their  mother's 
wing." 

And  Madame  Denis  presented  to  her  daughters  a  plate 
of  bon-bons,  from  which  they  helped  themselves  with  a 
modest  air  which  did  honour  to  their  education. 

The  chevalier,  during  the  discourse  and  action  of 
Madame  Denis,  had  time  to  examine  her  daughters. 

Mademoiselle  Emilie  was  a  tall  and  stiff  personage, 
from  twenty-two  to  twenty-three,  who  was  said  to  be  very 
much  like  her  late  father:  an  advantage  which  did  not, 
however,  suffice  to  gain  for  her  in  the  maternal  heart  an 
affection  equal  to  what  Madame  Denis  entertained  for  her 
other  two  children.  Thus  poor  Emilie,  always  afraid  of 
being  scolded,  retained  a  natural  awkwardness,  which  the 
repeated  lessons  of  her  dancing-master  had  not  been  able 
to  conquer. 

Mademoiselle  Athenais,  on  the  contrary,  was  little, 
plump,  and  rosy;  and,  thanks  to  her  sixteen  or  seventeen 
years,  had  what  is  vulgarly  called  the  devil's  beauty.    She 


118  tup:  chevalier  d'harmental. 

did  not  resemble  either  Monsieur  or  Madame  Denis,  a  sin- 
gularity which  had  often  exercised  the  tongues  of  the  Rue 
St.  Martin  before  she  went  to  inhabit  the  house  which  her 
husband  had  bought  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu.  In 
spite  of  this  absence  of  all  likeness  to  her  parents,  Made- 
moiselle Athenais  was  the  declared  favourite  of  her 
mother,  which  gave  her  the  assurance  that  poor  Emilie 
wanted.  Athenais,  however,  it  must  be  said,  always 
profited  l)y  this  favour  to  excuse  the  pretended  faults  of 
her  sister. 

Although  it  was  scarcely  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  two  sisters  were  dressed  as  if  for  a  ball,  and  carried 
all  the  trinkets  they  possessed  on  their  necks,  arms,  and 
ears. 

This  apparition,  so  conformable  to  the  idea  which 
D'Harmental  had  formed  beforehand  of  the  daughters  of 
his  landlady,  gave  him  a  new  subject  for  reflection.  Since 
the  Demoiselles  Denis  were  so  exactly  what  they  ought 
to  be,  that  is  to  say,  in  such  perfect  harmony  with  their 
position  and  education,  why  was  Bathilde,  who  seemed 
their  equal  in  rank,  as  visibly  distinguished  as  they  were 
vulgar?  Whence  came  this  immense  difference  between 
girls  of  the  same  class  and  age?  There  must  be  some 
secret,  which  the  chevalier  would  no  doubt  know  some 
day  or  other.  A  second  pressure  of  the  Abbé  Brigand's 
f(jot  against  his  made  him  understand  that,  however  true 
his  reflections  were,  he  had  chosen  a  bad  moment  for 
abandoning  himself  to  them.  Indeed,  Madame  Denis  took 
so  sovereign  an  air  of  dignity  that  D'Harmental  saw  that 
he  had  not  an  instant  to  lose  if  he  wished  to  efface  from 
her  mind  the  bad  impression  which  his  distraction  had 
caused. 

"Madame,"  said  he  directly,  with  the  most  gracious 
air  he  could  assume,  "that  which  I  already  see  of  your 
family  fills  me  with  the  most  lively  desire  to  know  the 
rest.  Is  not  your  son  at  home,  and  shall  not  I  hare  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him  ?  " 


THE   DENIS   FAMILY.  119 

"Monsieur,"  answered  Madame  Denis,  to  whom  so 
amiable  an  address  had  restored  all  her  good  humour,  ''my 
non  is  with  M.  Joulu,  his  master;  and,  unless  his  busi- 
ness brings  him  this  way,  it  is  improbable  that  he  will 
make  your  acquaintance." 

^^Parhleuf  my  dear  pupil,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigand, 
extending  his  hand  towards  the  door;  "you  are  like 
Aladdin.  It  is  enough  for  you  to  express  a  wish,  and  it 
is  fulfilled  " 

Indeed,  at  this  moment  tliey  heard  on  the  staircase  the 
song  about  Marlborough,  which  at  this  time  had  all  the 
charm  of  novelty;  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  gave 
entrance  to  a  boy  with  a  laughing  face,  who  much  re- 
sembled Mademoiselle  Athenais. 

"  Good,  good,  good,"  said  the  new-comer,  crossing  his 
arms,  and  remarking  the  ordinary  number  of  his  family 
increased  by  the  abbé  and  the  chevalier.  "Not  bad, 
Madame  Denis;  she  sends  Boniface  to  his  office  with  a  bit 
of  bread  and  cheese,  saying,  'Beware  of  indigestion,'  and 
in  his  absence  she  gives  feasts  and  suppers.  Luckily, 
poor  Boniface  has  a  good  nose.  He  comes  through  the 
Rue  Montmartre;  he  snuffs  the  wind,  and  says,  'What  is 
going  on  there  at  No.  5  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu?  '  So  he 
came,  and  here  he  is.     Make  a  place  for  one." 

And,  3oining  the  action  to  the  word,  Boniface  drew  a 
chair  to  the  table,  and  sat  down  between  the  abbé  and  the 
chevalier. 

"Monsieur  Boniface,"  said  Madame  Denis,  trying  to 
assume  a  severe  air,  "do  you  not  see  that  there  are 
strangers  here?" 

"  Strangers  !  "  said  Boniface,  taking  a  dish  from  the 
table,  and  setting  it  before  himself;  "and  who  are  the 
strangers?  Are  you  one,  Papa  Brigand?  Are  you  one, 
JMonsieur  Raoul?  You  are  not  a  stranger,  you  are  a 
lodger."  And,  taking  a  knife  and  fork,  he  set  to  work  in 
a  manner  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

^^Pardieuf  madame,"    said   the  chevalier,   "I  see  with 


120  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

pleasure  that  I  am  further  advanced  than  I  thought  I  was. 
I  did  not  know  that  I  had  the  honour  of  being  known  tu 
Monsieur  Konilace." 

"It  would  be  odd  if  I  did  not  know  you,"  said  the 
lawyer's  clerk,  with  his  mouth  full;  "you  have  got  my 
bedroom." 

"How,  Madame  Denis!"  said  D'Harmental,  "and  you 
left  me  in  ignorance  that  I  had  the  honour  to  succeed  in 
my  room  to  the  heir-apparent  of  your  family?  I  am  no 
longer  astonished  to  find  my  room  so  gaily  fitted  up;  I 
recognise  the  cares  of  a  mother." 

"Yes,  much  good  may  it  do  you;  but  I  have  one  bit 
of  advice  to  give  you.  Don't  look  out  of  window  too 
much." 

"Why?"  asked  D'Harmental. 

"Why?  because  you  have  a  certain  neighbour  opposite 
you." 

"Mademoiselle  Bathilde,"  said  the  chevalier,  carried 
away  by  his  first  impulse. 

"Ah!  you  know  that  already?"  answered  Boniface; 
"good,  good,  good;  that  will  do." 

"Will  you  be  quiet,  monsieur!"  cried  Madame  Denis. 

"Listen!"  answered  Boniface;  "one  must  inform  one's 
lodgers  when  one  has  prohibited  things  about  one's 
house.  You  are  not  in  a  lawyer's  office;  you  do  not 
know  that." 

"The  child  is  full  of  wit,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigand  in  that 
bantering  tone  thanks  to  which  it  was  impossible  to  know 
whether  he  was  serious  or  not. 

"But,"  answered  Madame  Denis,  "what  would  you  have 
in  common  between  Monsieur  Raoul  and  Bathilde  ?  " 

"What  in  common?  Why,  in  a  week  he  will  be  madly 
in  love  with  her,  and  it  is  not  worth  loving  a  coquette." 

"A  coquette  ?"  said  D'Harmental. 

"Yes,  a  coquette,  a  coquette,"  said  Boniface;  "I  have 
said  it,  and  I  do  not  draw  back.  A  coquette,  who  flirts 
with  the  young  men  and  lives  with  an  old  one,  without 


THE   DENIS    FAMILY.  121 

counting  that  little  brute  of  a  Mirza,  who  eats  up  all  my 
bon-bons,  and  now  bites  ine  every  time  she  meets  me." 

"Leave  the  room,  mesdemoiselles,"  cried  Madame  Denis, 
rising  and  making  her  daughters  rise  also.  ''  Leave  the 
room.     Ears  so  pure  as  yours  ought  not  hear  such  things." 

And  she  pushed  Mademoiselle  Athenais  and  Mademoi- 
selle Emilie  towards  the  door  of  their  room,  where  she 
entered  with  them. 

As  to  D'Harmental,  he  felt  a  violent  desire  to  break 
Boniface's  head  with  a  wine-bottle.  Nevertheless,  seeing 
the  absurdity  of  the  situation,  he  made  an  effort  and 
restrained  himself. 

"But,"  said  he,  "I  thought  that  the  bourgeois  whom  I 
saw  on  the  terrace  —  for  no  doubt  it  is  of  him  that  you 
speak.  Monsieur  Boniface  — " 

"Of  himself,  the  old  rascal;  what  did  you  think  of 
him?" 

"That  he  was  her  father." 

"  Her  father  !  not  quite.  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  has  no 
father." 

"  Then  at  least  her  uncle?  " 

"  Her  uncle  after  the  Bretagne  fashion,  but  in  no  other 
manner." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Madame  Denis,  majestically  coming 
out  of  the  room,  to  the  most  distant  part  of  which  she 
had  doubtless  consigned  her  daughters,  "I  have  asked 
you,  once  for  all,  not  to  talk  improprieties  before  your 
sisters." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Boniface,  "my  sisters:  do  you  believe 
that  at  their  age  they  cannot  understand  what  I  said, 
particularly  Emilie,  who  is  three-and-twenty  years  old  ?  " 

"Emilie  is  as  innocent  as  a  new-born  child,"  said 
Madame  Denis,  seating  herself  between  Brigand  and 
D'Harmental. 

"  I  should  advise  you  not  to  reckon  on  that.  I  found  a 
pretty  romance  for  Lent  in  our  innocent's  room.  I  will 
show  it  to  you,  Père  Brigand j  you  are  her  confessor,  and 


:!22  THE  ciievalip:r  d'iiarmental. 

we  shall  sec  if  you  gave  her  permission  to  read  her  prayers 
from  it." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  mischief-maker,"  said  the  abbé;  "do 
you  not  see  liow  you  are  grieving  your  mother?" 

Indeed,  Madame  Denis,  ashamed  at  this  scene  passing 
before  a  young  juau  on  whom,  with  a  mother's  foresight, 
she  had  already  begun  to  cast  an  eye,  was  nearly  fainting. 
There  is  nothing  in  which  men  believe  less  than  in 
women's  faintings,  and  nothing  to  which  they  give  way 
more  easily.  Whether  he  believed  in  it  or  not,  D'Har- 
mental  was  too  polite  not  to  show  his  hostess  some  atten- 
tion in  such  circumstances.  He  advanced  towards  her 
with  his  arms  extended.  Madame  Denis  no  sooner  saw 
this  support  offered  to  her  than  she  let  herself  fall, 
and,  throwing  her  head  back,  fainted  in  the  chevalier's 
arms. 

"Abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  while  Boniface  profited  by 
the  circumstance  to  fill  his  pockets  with  all  the  bon-bons 
left  on  the  table,   "bring  a  chair." 

The  abbé  pushed  forward  a  chair  with  the  nonchalance 
of  a  man  familiar  with  such  accidents,  and  who  is  before- 
hand quite  secure  as  to  the  result. 

They  seated  Madame  Denis,  and  D'Harmental  gave  her 
some  salts,  while  the  Abbé  Brigand  tapped  her  softly  in 
the  hollow  of  the  hand;  but,  in  spite  of  these  cares, 
Madame  Denis  did  not  appear  disposed  to  return  to  her- 
self; when  all  at  once,  when  they  least  expected  it,  she 
started  to  her  feet  as  if  by  a  spring,  and  gave  a  loud 
cry. 

D'Harmental  thought  that  a  fit  of  hysterics  was  follow- 
ing the  fainting.  He  was  truly  frightened,  there  was 
such  an  accent  of  reality  in  the  scream  that  the  poor 
woman  gave. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Boniface;  "I  have  only  just 
emptied  the  water-bottle  down  her  back.  That  is  what 
brought  her  to;  you  saw  tliat  she  did  not  know  how  to 
manage  it.     Well,  what?  "  continued  the  pitiless  fellow, 


THE    DENIS    FAMILY,  123 

seeing  Madame  Denis  look  angrily  at  Lim;  ''it  is  I;  do 
you  not  recognise  me,  Mother  Denis?  It  is  your  little 
Boniface,   who  loves  you  so." 

"Madame,"  said  D'Harmental,  much  embarrassed  at  the 
situation,  "  I  am  truly  distressed  at  what  has  passed." 

"Oh,  monsieur  !  "  cried  Madame  Denis,  in  tears,  "I  am 
indeed  unfortunate." 

"Come,  come;  do  not  cry,  Mother  Denis,  you  are 
already  wet  enough,"  said  Boniface;  "you  had  better  go 
and  change  j^our  linen;  there  is  nothing  so  unhealthy  as 
wet  clothes." 

"The  child  is  full  of  sense,"  said  Brigand,  "and  I  think 
you  had  better  follow  his  advice." 

"If  I  might  join  my  prayers  to  those  of  the  abbé,"  said 
D'Harmental,  "I  should  beg  you,  madame,  not  to  incon- 
venience yourself  for  us.  Besides,  we  were  just  going  to 
take  leave  of  you." 

"  And  you  also,  abbé  ?  "  said  Madame  Denis,  with  a 
distressed  look  at  Brigand. 

"As  for  me,"  said  Brigand,  who  did  not  seem  to  fancy 
the  part  of  comforter,  "  I  am  expected  at  the  Hôtel 
Colbert,  and  I  must  leave  you." 

"Adieu,  then,"  said  Madame  Denis,  making  a  curtsey; 
but  the  water  trickling  down  her  clothes  took  away  a  great 
part  of  its  dignity. 

"Adieu,  mother,"  said  Boniface,  throwing  his  arms 
round  her  neck  with  the  assurance  of  a  spoiled  child. 
"Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  Maître  Joulu?" 

"Adieu,  viauvais  si/Jet,^'  replied  the  poor  woman,  em- 
bracing her  son,  and  yielding  to  that  attraction  which  a 
mother  cannot  resist;  "adieu,   and  be  steady." 

"  As  an  image,  mother,  on  condition  that  you  will  give 
us  a  nice  little  dish  of  sweets  for  dinner." 

He  joined  the  Abbé  Brigand  and  D'Harmental,  who 
were  already  on  the  landing. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  abbé,  lifting  his  hand  quickly 
to  his  waistcoat  pocket,  "  what  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 


124  THE    CIIEVALIKR    D'il  A  RMENTAL. 

"Oh,  1  was  only  loolcin;^'  if  there  was  not  a  crown  in 
your  pocket  for  your  friend  lîoniface." 

"Here,"  said  the  abho,  "hero  is  one,  and  now  leave  us 
alone." 

"Papa  Brigaudj"  said  Boniface,  in  the  effusion  of  his 
gratitude,  "you  have  tlie  heart  of  a  cardinal,  and  if  the 
kir.g  only  makes  you  an  archlùshop,  on  iny  honour  you 
will  be  robbed  of  half.  Adieu,  Monsieur  Eaoul,"  con- 
tinued he,  addressing  the  chevalier  as  familiarly  as  if  he 
had  known  him  for  years.  "I  repeat,  take  care  of  Made- 
moiselle Bathilde  if  you  wish  to  keep  your  heart,  and  give 
some  sweetmeats  to  Mirza  if  you  care  for  your  legs;  "  and, 
holding  by  the  banister,  he  cleared  the  first  flight  of  twelve 
steps  at  one  bound,  and  reached  the  street  door  without 
having  touched  a  stair. 

Brigand  descended  more  quietly  behind  him,  after  hav- 
ing given  the  chevalier  a  rendezvous  for  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening. 

As  to  D'Harmental,  he  went  back  thoughtfully  to  his 
attic. 


THE  CRIMSON  RIBBON.  125 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


THE   CRIMSON    RIBBON. 


What  occupied  the  mind  of  the  chevalier  was  neither  the 
dénouement  of  the  drama  where  he  had  chosen  so  impor- 
tant a  part,  nor  the  admirable  prudence  of  the  Abbé 
Brigand  in  placing  him  in  a  house  which  he  habitually 
visited  almost  daily,  so  that  his  visits,  however  frequent, 
could  not  be  remarkable.  It  was  not  the  dignified  speeches 
of  Madame  Denis,  nor  the  soprano  of  Mademoiselle  Emilie. 
It  was  neither  the  contralto  of  Mademoiselle  Athenais,  nor 
the  tricks  of  Monsieur  Boniface.  It  was  simply  poor  Ba- 
thilde,  whom  he  had  heard  so  lightly  spoken  of;  but  our 
reader  would  be  mistaken  if  he  supposed  that  Monsieur 
Boniface's  brutal  accusation  had  in  the  least  degree  altered 
the  sentiments  of  the  chevalier  for  the  young  girl,  for  an 
instant's  reflection  showed  him  that  such  an  alliance  was 
impossible. 

Chance  might  give  a  charming  daughter  to  an  undis- 
tinguished father.  Necessity  may  unite  a  young  and 
elegant  woman  to  an  old  and  vulgar  husband;  but  a 
liaison  such  as  that  attributed  to  the  young  girl  and  the 
bourgeois  of  the  terrace  can  only  result  from  love  or 
interest.  Xow  between  these  two  there  could  be  no  love  ; 
and  as  to  interest,  the  thing  was  still  less  probable  ;  fur, 
if  they  were  not  in  absolute  poverty,  their  situation  was 
certainly  not  above  mediocrity, —  not  even  that  gilded 
mediocrity  of  which  Horace  speaks,  with  a  country  house 
at  Tibur  or  Montmorency,  and  which  results  from  a 
pension  of  thirty  thousand  sestercia  from  the  Augustan 
treasury,  or  a  government  annuity  of  six  thousand  francs, 
but  that  poor  and  miserable  mediocrity  which  only  pro- 


126  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

vides  from  day  to  day,  and  which  is  only  prevented  from 
becoming  real  poverty  by  incessant  labour. 

D'Harmental  gathered  from  all  this  the  certainty  that 
Bathilde  was  neither  the  daughter,  wife,  nor  mistress  of 
this  terrible  neighbour,  the  sight  of  whom  had  sufficed  to 
produce  such  a  strange  reaction  on  the  growing  love  of  the 
chevalier.  If  she  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  there 
was  a  mystery  about  her  birth;  and  if  so,  Bathilde  was 
not  what  she  appeared  to  be.  All  was  explained,  her 
aristocratic  beauty,  her  finished  education.  Bathilde  was 
above  the  position  which  she  was  temporarily  forced  to 
occupy  :  there  had  been  in  the  destiny  of  this  young  girl 
one  of  those  overthrows  of  fortune  which  are  for  individ- 
uals what  eartliquakes  are  for  towns,  and  she  had  been 
forced  to  descend  to  the  inferior  sphere  where  he  found 
her. 

The  result  of  all  this  was,  that  the  chevalier  might, 
without  losing  rank  in  his  own  estimation,  allow  himself 
to  love  Bathilde.  When  a  man's  heart  is  at  war  with  his 
pride,  he  seldom  wants  excuses  to  defeat  his  haughty 
enemy.  Bathilde  had  now  neither  name  nor  family,  and 
nothing  prevented  the  imagination  of  the  man  who  loved 
her  from  raising  her  to  a  height  even  above  his  own;  con- 
sequently, instead  of  following  the  advice  of  Monsieur 
Boniface,  the  first  thing  D'Harmental  did  was  to  go  to  his 
window  and  inspect  that  of  his  neighbour.  It  was  wide 
open.  If  a  week  ago  any  one  had  told  the  chevalier  that 
such  a  simple  thing  as  an  open  window  would  have  made 
his  heart  beat,  he  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea.  How- 
ever, so  it  was;  and,  after  drawing  a  long  breath,  he  settled 
himself  in  a  corner,  to  watch  at  his  ease  the  young  girl 
in  the  opposite  room,  without  being  seen  by  her,  for  he 
was  afraid  of  frightening  her  by  that  attention  whicli  she 
could  only  attribute  to  curiosity;  but  he  soon  perceived 
that  the  room  was  deserted. 

D'Harmental  then  opened  his  window,  and  at  the  noise 
he  made  in  doing  so  he  saw  the  elegant  head  of  the  grey 


THE  CRIMSON  RIBBON.  127 

iiouud,  which,  with  her  ears  always  on  the  v/atch,  and 
well  worthy  of  the  trust  that  her  mistress  had  reposed  in 
her  in  making  her  guardian  of  the  house,  was  awake,  and 
looking  to  see  who  it  was  that  thus  disturbed  her  sleep. 

Thanks  to  the  indiscreet  counter-tenor  of  the  good  man  of 
the  terrace  and  the  malice  of  Monsieur  Boniface,  the  chev- 
alier already  knew  two  things  very  important  to  know; 
namely,  that  his  neighbour  was  called  Bathilde,  a  sweet 
and  euphonious  appellation,  suitable  to  a  young,  beautiful, 
and  graceful  girl;  and  that  the  greyhound  was  called 
Mirza,  a  name  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  no  less  distin- 
guished rank  in  the  canine  aristocracy.  Now  as  nothing 
is  to  be  disdained  when  we  wish  to  conquer  a  fortress,  and 
the  smallest  intelligence  from  within  is  often  more  effica- 
cious than  the  most  terrible  machines  of  war,  D'Harmental 
resolved  to  commence  opening  communications  with  the 
greyhound;  and,  with  the  most  caressing  tone  he  could 
give  to  his  voice,  he  called  Mirza.  Mirza,  who  was  indo- 
lently lying  on  the  cushion,  raised  her  head  quickly,  with 
an  expression  of  unmistakable  astonishment;  and,  indeed, 
it  must  have  appeared  strange  to  the  intelligent  little 
animal  that  a  man  so  perfectly  unknown  to  her  as  the 
chevalier  should  address  her  by  her  Christian  name.  She 
contented  herself  with  fixing  on  him  her  uneasy  eyes, 
which,  in  the  half-light  where  she  was  placed,  sparkled 
like  two  carbuncles,  and  uttering  a  little  dull  sound  which 
might  pass  for  a  growl. 

D'Harmental  remembered  that  the  Marquis  d'Uxelle 
had  tamed  the  spaniel  of  jMademoiselle  Choin,  which  was 
a  much  more  peevish  beast  than  any  greyhound  in  the 
world,  with  roast  rabbits'  heads;  and  that  he  had  received 
for  this  delicate  attention  the  baton  of  Maréchal  de  France  ; 
and  he  did  not  despair  of  being  able  to  soften  b}-  the  same 
kind  of  attention  the  surly  reception  which  Mademoiselle 
Mirza  had  given  to  his  advances  :  so  he  went  towards  the 
sugar-basin;  then  returned  to  the  window,  armed  with  two 
pieces  of  sugar  large  enough  to  be  divided  ad  infinitum. 


128  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

The  chevalier  was  not  mistaken;  at  the  first  piece  of 
sugar  which  fell  near  her,  Mirza  negligently  advanced  her 
head;  then,  being  by  the  aid  of  smell  made  aware  of  the 
nature  of  the  temptation  offered  to  her,  she  extended  her 
paw  towards  it,  drew  it  towards  her,  took  it  in  her  teeth, 
and  began  to  eat  it  with  that  languid  air  peculiar  to  the 
race  to  which  she  belonged.  This  operation  finished,  she 
passed  over  her  mouth  a  little  red  tongue,  which  showed 
that,  in  spite  of  her  apparent  indifference,  Avhich  was 
owing,  no  doubt,  to  her  excellent  education,  she  was  not 
insensible  to  the  surprise  her  neighbour  had  prepared  for 
her;  instead  of  lying  down  again  on  the  cushion  as  she 
had  done  the  first  time,  she  remained  seated,  yawning 
languidly,  but  wagging  her  tail  to  show  that  she  would 
wake  entirely  after  two  or  three  such  little  attentions  as 
she  had  just  had  paid  to  her. 

D'Harmental,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  hab- 
its of  all  the  King  Charles  dogs  of  the  pretty  women 
of  the  day,  understood  the  amiable  intentions  of  Mirza, 
and,  not  wishing  to  give  her  time  to  change  her  mind, 
threw  a  second  piece  of  sugar,  taking  care  that  it  should 
fall  at  such  a  distance  as  to  oblige  her  to  leave  her  cushion 
to  get  it.  This  test  would  decide  whether  she  was  most 
inclined  to  laziness  or  greediness.  Mirza  remained  an 
instant  uncertain,  but  then  greediness  carried  the  day,  and 
she  went  across  the  room  to  fetch  the  piece  of  sugar, 
which  had  rolled  under  the  harpsichord.  At  this  moment 
a  third  piece  fell  near  the  window,  and  Mirza  came  towards 
it;  but  there  the  liberality  of  the  chevalier  stopped;  he 
thought  that  he  had  now  given  enough  to  require  some 
return,  and  he  contented  himself  with  calling  Mirza  in  a 
more  imperative  tone,  and  showing  her  the  other  pieces 
of  sugar  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Mirza  this  time,  instead  of  looking  at  the  chevalier  with 
imeasiness  or  disdain,  rested  her  paws  on  the  window,  and 
began  to  behave  as  she  would  to  an  old  acquaintance.  It 
was  finished;  Mirza  was  tamed. 


THE   CRIMSON   RIBBON.  129 

The  chevalier  remarked  that  it  was  now  his  turn  to  play 
the  contemptuous  with  Mirza,  and  to  speak  to  her,  in  order 
to  accustom  her  to  his  voice;  however,  fearing  a  return  of 
pride  on  the  part  of  his  interlocutor,  who  sustained  her 
part  in  the  dialogue  by  little  whines  and  grumblings,  he 
threw  her  a  fourth  piece  of  sugar,  which  she  seized  with 
greater  avidity  from  having  been  kept  waiting.  This 
time,  without  being  called,  she  came  to  take  her  place  at 
the  window.  The  chevalier's  triumph  was  complete,  —  so 
complete,  that  Mirza,  who  the  day  before  had  given  signs  of 
so  superior  an  intelligence  in  discovering  Bathilde's  return, 
and  m  running  to  the  door  as  she  ascended  the  staircase, 
this  time  discovered  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  so  that 
her  mistress,  entering  all  at  once,  surprised  her  in  the 
midst  of  these  coquetries  with  her  neighbour.  It  is  but 
just  to  say,  however,  that  at  the  noise  the  door  made  in 
opening  Mirza  turned,  and,  recognising  Bathilde,  bounded 
towards  her,  lavishing  on  her  the  most  tender  caresses; 
but  we  must  add,  to  the  shame  of  the  species,  that,  this 
duty  once  accomplished,  she  hastened  back  to  the  window. 
This  unusual  action  on  the  part  of  the  dog  naturally 
guided  Bathilde's  eyes  towards  the  cause  which  occasioned 
it.     Her  eyes  met  those  of  the  chevalier. 

Bathilde  blushed:  the  chevalier  bowed;  and  Bathilde, 
without  knowing  what  she  was  doing,  returned  the  salute. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  go  and  close  the  window,  but 
an  instinctive  feeling  restrained  her.  She  understood  that 
this  was  giving  importance  to  a  thing  which  had  none,  and 
that  to  put  herself  on  the  defensive  was  to  avow  herself 
attacked.  In  consequence,  she  crossed  to  that  part  of  the 
room  where  her  neighbour's  glance  could  not  reach.  Then, 
at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  when  she  returned,  she  found 
that  he  had  closed  his  window.  Bathilde  understood  that 
there  was  discretion  in  this  action,  and  she  thanked  him. 
Indeed,  the  chevalier  had  just  made  a  master  stroke.  On 
the  terms  which  he  was  on  with  his  neighbour,  it  was 
impossible  that  both  windows  should  remain  open  at  oncej 


130  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

if  the  chevalier's  window  Avas  o[)en,  bis  neighbour's  must 
be   shut,  and  he   knew   that   when  that  was  closed  there 
was  nut  a  chance  of  seeing  even  the  tip  of  Mirza's   nose 
behind  the  curtain;  while  if,  on  the  contrary,  his  window 
was  closed,  hers  might  possibly  remain  open,  and  he  could 
watch  her  passing  to  and   fro,  or  working,   which  was  a 
great  amusement  for  a  poor  devil  condemned  to  absolute 
seclusion;   besides,  he  had   made  an  immense   step, — he 
had  saluted  Bathilde,  and  she  had  returned  it.     They  were 
no  longer  strangers  to  each  other,  but,  in  order  that  their 
acquaintance  might  advance,  he  must  be  careful  not  to  be 
too   brusque.     To  risk   speaking  to   her   after   the  salute 
would  have  been  risking  too  much;  it  was  better  to  allow 
Bathilde  to  believe  that  it  was  all  the   effect  of  chance. 
Bathilde  did  not  believe  it,  but   she  appeared   to   do  so. 
The  result  was  that  she  left  her  window  open,  and,  seeing 
her  neighbour's  closed,  sat  down  by  her  own  with  a  book 
in  her  hand.     As  to  Mirza,  she  jumped  on  to  the   stool  at 
her  mistress's  feet,  but,  instead  of  resting  her  head  as  usual 
on  the  knees  of  the  young  girl,  she  placed  it  on  the  sill  of 
the  window,  so  much  was  she  occupied  with  the  generous 
unknown.     The  chevalier  seated  himself  in  the  middle  of 
his  room,  took  his  pencils,  and,  thanks  to  a  corner  of  his 
curtain  skilfully  raised,  he  sketched  the  delicious  picture 
before    him.      Unfortunately  the   days  were   short,    and 
towards  three  o'clock  the  little  light  which  the  clouds  and 
rain   had    permitted   to   descend   to   the    earth   began   to 
decline,  and  Bathilde   closed  her  window.     Nevertheless, 
even  in  this  short   time   the   chevalier  had  finished  the 
young  girl's  head,  and   the  likeness  was  perfect.     There 
was  her  waving  hair,  her  fine  transparent  skin,  the  grace- 
ful curve  of  her  swan-like  neck  ;  in  fact,  all  to  which  art 
can  attain  with  one  of  those  inimitable  models  which  are 
the  despair  of  artists. 

When  night  closed  in,  the  Abbé  Brigand  arrived.  The 
chevalier  and  he  wrapped  themselves  in  their  mantles, 
and  went  towards  the  Palais  Eoyal;  they  had,  it  will  be 


THE   CRIMSON   KIBBON,  131 

remembered,  to  examine  the  ground.  The  house  in  which 
Madame  de  Sabran  lived,  since  her  husband  had  been 
named  maître  d^ hôtel  to  the  regent,  was  No.  22,  between 
the  Hôtel  de  la  Roche-Guyon  and  the  passage  formerly 
called  Passage  du  Palais  Koyal,  because  it  was  the  only 
one  leading  from  the  Kue  des  Bons  Enfants  to  the  Rue  de 
Valois.  This  passage,  now  called  Passage  du  Lycée,  was 
closed  at  the  same  time  as  the  other  gates  of  the  garden, 
that  is  to  say,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening;  therefore, 
having  once  entered  a  house  in  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants, 
unless  it  had  a  second  door  opening  on  the  Rue  de  Valois, 
no  one  could  return  to  the  Palais  Royal  after  eleven  o'clock 
without  making  the  round,  either  by  the  Rue  Neuve  des 
Petits  Champs,  or  by  the  Cour  des  Fontaines. 

Thus  it  was  with  Madame  de  Sabran's  house;  it  was 
an  exquisite  little  hôtel,  built  towards  the  end  of  the  last 
century,  some  five-and-twenty  years  before,  by  a  merchant 
who  wished  to  ape  the  great  lords  and  have  a  jjetite  maison 
of  his  own.  It  was  a  one-storied  house,  with  a  stone 
gallery,  on  which  the  servants'  attics  opened,  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  low  tilted  roof.  Under  the  first-floor 
windows  was  a  large  balcony,  which  jutted  out  three  or 
four  feet  and  extended  right  across  the  house;  but  some 
iron  ornaments  similar  to  the  balcony,  and  which  reached 
to  the  terrace,  separated  the  two  windows  on  each  side 
from  the  three  in  tlie  centre,  as  is  often  done  when  it  is 
desired  to  interrupt  exterior  communications.  The  two 
façades  were  exactly  similar,  only,  as  the  Rue  de  Valois 
was  eight  or  ten  feet  lower  than  that  of  the  Bons  Enfants, 
tlie  ground-floor  windows  and  door  opened  on  a  terrace 
where  was  a  little  garden,  filled  in  spring  with  charming 
flowers,  but  which  did  not  communicate  with  the  street, 
the  only  entrance  being,  as  we  have  said,  in  the  Rue  des 
Bons  Enfants. 

This  was  all  our  conspirators  could  wish;  the  regent, 
once  entered  into  Madame  de  Sabran's  house,  would  — 
provided  he  stayed  after  eleven  o'clock,  which  was  prob- 


132  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

able  —  be  taken  as  in  a  trap,  and  nothing  would  be  easier 
than  to  carry  out  their  plan  in  tlie  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants, 
one  of  the  most  deserted  and  gloomy  places  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. Moreover,  as  this  street  was  surrounded  by  very 
suspicious  houses,  and  frequented  by  very  bad  company, 
it  was  a  hundred  to  one  that  they  would  not  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  cries,  which  were  too  frequent  in  that  street  to 
cause  any  uneasiness,  and  that,  if  the  watch  arrived,  it 
would  be,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  estimable  force, 
long  after  their  intervention  could  be  of  any  avail.  The 
inspection  of  the  ground  finished,  the  plans  laid,  and  the 
number  of  the  house  taken,  they  separated:  the  abbé  to 
go  to  the  Arsenal  to  give  Madame  du  Maine  an  account 
of  the  proceedings,  and  D'Harmental  to  return  to  his 
attic. 

As  on  the  preceding  night,  Bathilde's  room  was  lighted, 
but  this  time  the  young  girl  was  not  drawing,  but  working; 
her  light  was  not  put  out  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
As  to  the  good  man,  he  had  retired  long  before  D'Har- 
mental returned.  The  chevalier  slept  badly;  between  a 
love  at  its  commencement  and  a  conspiracy  at  its  height, 
he  naturally  experienced  some  sensations  little  favourable 
to  sleep;  but  towards  morning  fatigue  prevailed,  and  he 
only  awoke  on  feeling  himself  violently  shaken  by  the 
arm.  Without  doubt  the  chevalier  was  at  that  moment  in 
some  bad  dream,  of  which  this  appeared  to  him  the  end, 
for,  still  half  asleep,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  towards 
the  pistols  which  were  at  his  side. 

"Ah,  ah!"  cried  the  abbé,  "an  instant,  young  man. 
What  a  hurry  you  are  in  !  Open  your  eyes  wide,  —  so. 
Do  you  not  recognise  me?" 

"Ah!"  said  D'Harmental,  laughing,  "it  is  you,  abbé. 
You  did  well  to  stop  me.     I  dreamed  that  I  was  arrested." 

"A  good  sign,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigand;  "you  know  that 
dreams  always  go  by  contraries.     All  will  go  well." 

"Is  there  anything  new  ?"  asked  D'Harmental. 

"And  if  there  were,  how  would  you  receive  it?" 


THE    CRIMSON    RIBBON.  133 

"I  should  be  enchaiiTF^d.  A  thing  of  this  kind  once 
undertaken,  the  sooner  it  is  finished  the  better." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Erigaud,  drawing  a  paper  from  his 
pocket  and  presenting  it  to  the  chevalier,  "read,  and 
glorify  the  name  of  the  Lord,  for  you  have  your  wish." 

D'Harmental  took  the  paper,  unfolded  it  as  calmly  as  if 
it  were  a  matter  of  no  moment,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

''Report  of  the  21th  of  March. 

"  Two  in  the  Morning. 

"To-night  at  ten  o'clock  the  regent  received  a  courier 
from  London,  who  announces  for  to-morrow  the  arrival  of 
the  Abbé  Dubois.  As  by  chance  the  regent  was  supping 
with  madame,  the  despatch  was  given  to  him  in  spite  of 
the  late  hour.  Some  minutes  before,  Mademoiselle  de 
Chartres  had  asked  permission  of  her  father  to  perform 
her  devotions  at  the  Abbey  of  Chelles,  and  he  has  prom- 
ised to  conduct  her  there;  but  on  the  receipt  of  this  let- 
ter his  determination  was  changed,  and  he  has  ordered  the 
council  to  meet  at  noon. 

"At  three  o'clock  the  regent  will  pay  his  Majesty  a  visit 
at  the  Tuileries.  He  has  asked  for  a  téte-à-tête,  for  he  is 
beginning  to  be  impatient  at  the  obstinacy  of  the  Maréchal 
de  Villeroy,  who  will  always  be  present  at  the  interviews 
between  the  regent  and  his  Majesty.  Report  says  that, 
if  this  obstinacy  continue,  it  will  be  the  worse  for  the 
marshal. 

"At  six  o'clock,  the  regent,  the  Chevalier  de  Simiane, 
and  the  Chevalier  de  Ravanne  will  sup  with  Madame  de 
Sabran." 

"Ah,  ah!"  said  D'Harmental;  and  he  read  the  last 
sentence,  weighing  every  word. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this  paragraph  ?  "  asked 
the  abbé. 

The  chevalier  jumped  from  his  bed,  put  on  his  dressing 
gown,  took  from  his  drawer  a  crimson  ribbon,  a  hammer 


134  THE   CHEVALIER    ])"hAKMENTAL. 

aud  a  nail,  and,  having  opened  his  window  (not  without 
throwing  a  stolen  glance  at  that  of  his  neighbour),  he 
nailed  the  ribbon  on  to  the  outer  wall. 

"There  is  my  answer,"  said  he. 

"  What  the  devil  does  that  mean?  " 

"That  means,"  said  D'Hannental,  "that  you  may  go 
and  tell  IVIadame  du  Maine  that  I  hope  this  evening  to 
fulfil  my  promise  to  her.  And  now  go  away,  my  dear 
abbé,  and  do  not  come  back  for  two  hours,  for  I  expect 
some  one  whom  it  would  be  better  you  should  not  meet." 

The  abbé,  who  was  prudence  itself,  did  not  wait  to  be 
told  twice,  but  pressed  the  chevalier's  hand  and  left  him. 
Twenty  minutes  afterward?  Captain  Roquefinette  entered. 


THE  RUE   DES   BONS   ENFANTS. 


135 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    RUE    DES    BONS    ENFANTS. 

The  evening  of  the  same  clay,  which  was  Sunday,  towards 
eight  o'clock,  at  the  moment  when  a  considerable  group 
of  men  and  women,  assembled  round  a  street  singer  who 
was  playing  at  the  same  time  the  cymbals  with  his  knees 
and  the  tambourine  with  his  hands,  obstructed  the  entrance 
to  the  Rue  de  Valois,  a  musketeer  and  two  of  the  light 
horse  descended  a  back  staircase  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and 
advanced  towards  the  Passage  du  Lycée,  which,  as  every 
one  knows,  opens  on  to  that  street;  but,  seeing  the  crowd 
which  barred  the  way,  the  three  soldiers  stopped  and 
appeared  to  take  counsel.  The  result  of  their  deliberation 
was  doubtless  that  they  must  take  another  route,  for  the 
musketeer,  setting  the  example  of  a  new  manoeuvre, 
threaded  the  Cour  des  Fontaines,  turned  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  and  walking  rapidly  —  though  he 
was  extremely  corpulent  —  arrived  at  No.  22,  which 
opened  as  by  enchantment  at  his  approach,  and  closed 
again  on  him  and  his  two  companions. 

At  the  moment  when  they  commenced  this  little  detour, 
a  young  man  dressed  in  a  dark  coat,  wrapped  in  a  mantle 
of  the  same  colour,  and  wearing  a  broad-brimmed  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  quitted  the  group  which  sur- 
rounded the  singer,  singing  himself,  to  the  tune  of  Les 
Pendus,  "Vingt-quatre,  vingt-quatre,  vingt-quatre,"  and, 
advancing  rapidly  towards  the  Passage  du  Lycée,  arrived 
at  the  farther  end  in  time  to  see  the  three  illustrious  vaga- 
bonds enter  the  house  as  we  have  said.  He  threw  a  glance 
round  him,  and  by  the  light  of  one  of  the  three  lanterns, 
which  lighted,  or  rather  ought  to  have  lighted,  the  whole 


136  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

length  of  tlie  street,  lie  perceived  one  of  tliose  immense 
coal  heavers,  with  a  face  the  colour  of  soot,  so  well  stereo- 
typed by  Greuze,  who  was  resting  against  one  of  the  posts 
of  he  Hôtel  de  la  Roche-Guyon,  on  which  he  had  hung 
his  bag.  For  an  instant  he  appeared  to  hesitate  to 
approach  this  man;  but  the  coalheaver  having  sung  the 
same  air  and  the  same  burden,  he  appeared  to  lose  all 
hesitation,  and  went  straight  to  him. 

"Well,  captain,"  said  the  man  in  the  cloak,  "did  you 
see  them?" 

"  As  plainly  as  I  see  you,  colonel,  —  a  musketeer  and 
two  light  horse;  but  I  could  not  recognise  them.  How- 
ever, as  the  musketeer  hid  his  face  in  his  handkerchief, 
I  presume  it  was  the  regent." 

"Himself;  and  the  two  light  horse  are  Simiane  and 
Eavanne." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  my  scholar,  "  said  the  captain  ;  "  I  shall  have 
great  pleasure  in  seeing  him  again:  he  is  a  good  boy." 

"At  any  rate,  captain,  take  care  he  does  not  recognise 
you." 

"Eecognise  me!  It  must  be  the  devil  himself  to  recog- 
nise me,  accoutred  as  I  am.  It  is  you,  rather,  chevalier, 
who  should  take  the  caution.  You  have  an  unfortunately 
aristocratic  air,  which  does  not  suit  at  all  with  your  dress. 
However,  there  they  are  in  the  trap,  and  we  must  take 
care  they  do  not  leave  it.     Have  our  people  been  told?  " 

"Your  people,  captain.  I  know  no  more  of  them  than 
they  do  of  me.  I  quitted  the  group  singing  the  burden 
which  was  our  signal.  Did  they  hear  me?  Did  they 
understand  me?     I  know  nothing  of  it." 

"  Be  easy,  colonel.  These  fellows  hear  half  a  voice,  and 
understand  half  a  word." 

Indeed,  as  soon  as  the  man  in  the  cloak  had  left  the 
group,  a  strange  fluctuation  which  he  had  not  foreseen 
began  to  take  place  in  the  crowd,  which  appeared  to  be 
composed  only  of  passers-by,  so  that  the  song  was  not 
finished,  nor  the  collection  received.    The  crowd  dispersed 


THE   RUE    DES    BOISS    ENFANTS.  137 

A  great  many  men  left  the  circle,  singly,  or  two  and  two, 
turning  towards  each  other  with  an  imperceptible  gesture 
of  the  hand,  some  by  the  Rue  de  Valois,  some  by  the 
Cour  des  Fontaines,  some  by  the  Palais  Royal  itself,  tlius 
surrounding  the  Rue  des  Rons  Enfants,  which  seemed  to 
be  the  centre  of  the  rendezvous.  In  consequence  of  this 
manoeuvre,  the  intention  of  which  it  is  easy  to  understand, 
there  only  remained  before  the  singer  ten  or  twelve 
women,  some  children,  and  a  good  bourgeois  of  about  forty 
years  old,  who,  seeing  that  the  collection  was  about  to 
begin  again,  quitted  his  place  with  an  air  of  profound 
contempt  for  all  these  new  songs,  and  humming  an  old 
pastoral  which  he  placed  infinitely  above  them.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  several  men  as  he  passed  them  made  him 
signs  ;  but  as  he  did  not  belong  to  any  secret  society  or  any 
masonic  lodge,  he  went  on,  singing  his  favourite, 

"  Then  let  me  go, 
And  let  me  play 
Beneath  the  hazel-tree," 

and  after  having  followed  the  Rue  St.  Honoré  to  the 
Barrière  des  Deux  Sergents,  turned  the  corner  and  disap- 
peared. Almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  man  in  the 
cloak,  who  had  been  the  first  to  leave  the  group,  reap- 
peared, and,  accosting  the  singer,  — 

"My  friend,"  said  he,  "my  wife  is  ill,  and  your  music 
will  prevent  her  sleeping.  If  you  have  no  particular 
reason  for  remaining  here,  go  to  the  Place  du  Palais 
Royal,  and  here  is  a  crown  to  indemnify  you." 

"Thank  you,  my  lord,"  replied  the  singer,  measuring 
the  social  position  of  the  giver  by  his  generosity.  "I 
will  go  directly.  Have  you  any  commissions  for  the  Rue 
Mouffetard?" 

"No." 

"Because  I  would  have  executed  them  into  the  bargain." 

The  man  went  away,  and,  as  he  was  at  once  the  centre 
and  the  cause  of  the  meeting,  all  that  remained  disap- 
peared with  him.     At  this  moment  the  clock  of  the  Palais 


1.38  thp:  chevalier  d'harmental. 

Royal  struck  nine.  The  young  man  drew  from  liis  pocket 
a  watch,  whose  diamond  setting  contrasted  strangely  with 
his  simple  costume.  He  set  it  exactly,  then  turned  and 
went  into  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants.  On  arriving  oppo- 
site No.  24,  he  found  the  coalheaver. 

"And  the  singer?"  asked  the  latter. 

"He  is  gone." 

"Good." 

"And  the  post-chaise?  "  asked  the  man  in  the  cloak. 

"It  is  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Kaillif." 

"Have  they  taken  the  precaution  of  wrapping  the 
wheels  and  horses'  hoofs  in  rags  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Very  good.  Now  let  us  wait,"  said  the  man  in  the 
cloak. 

"Let  us  wait,"  replied  the  coalheaver.  And  all  was 
silent. 

An  hour  passed,  during  which  a  few  rare  passers-by 
crossed  the  street  at  intervals,  but  at  length  it  became 
almost  deserted.  The  few  lighted  windows  were  darkened 
one  after  another,  and  night,  having  now  nothing  to  con- 
tend with  but  the  two  lanterns,  one  of  which  was  opposite 
the  chapel  of  St.  Clare,  and  the  other  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Baillif,  at  length  reigned  over  the  domain  which  it 
had  alone  claimed.  Another  hour  passed.  They  heard 
the  watch  in  the  Rue  de  Valois;  behind  him,  the  keeper 
of  the  passage  came  to  close  the  door. 

"Good,"  murmured  the  man  in  the  cloak;  "now  we  are 
sure  not  to  be  interrupted." 

"Provided,"  replied  the  coalheaver,  "he  leaves  before 
day." 

"If  he  were  alone,  we  might  fear  his  remaining;  but 
Madame  de  Sabran  will  scarcely  keep  all  three." 

"  Peste  !  you  are  right,  captain  ;  and  I  had  not  thought 
of  it;  however,  are  all  your  precautions  taken?" 

"  All." 

"  And  your  men  believe  that  it  is  a  question  of  a  bet  ?  " 


THE    lUJR    DES    BONS    ENFANTS.  139 

"They  appear  to  believe  it  at  least,  and  we  cannot  ask 
more." 

"Then  it  is  well  understood,  captain.  You  and  your 
people  are  drunk.  You  push  me.  I  fall  between  the 
regent  and  him  w^ho  has  his  arm.  I  separate  them.  You 
seize  on  him  and  gag  him,  and  at  a  whistle  the  carriage 
arrives,  while  Simiane  and  Ravanne  are  held  with  pistols 
at  their  throats." 

"But,"  answered  the  coalheaver,  in  a  low  voice,  "if  he 
declares  his  name." 

The  man  in  the  cloak  replied,  in  a  still  lower  tone,  "  In 
conspiracies  there  are  no  half-measures.  If  he  declares 
himself,  you  must  kill  him." 

"Pes^e/"  said  the  coalheaver;  "let  us  try  to  prevent 
his  doing  so." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  all  was  again  silent.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  passed,  and  then  the  centre  windows  were 
lighted  up.  "Ah!  ah!  there  is  something  new,"  they  both 
exclaimed  together. 

At  this  moment  they  heard  the  step  of  a  man  who  came 
from  the  Rue  St.  Honoré,  and  who  was  preparing  to  go 
the  whole  length  of  the  street. 

The  coalheaver  muttered  a  terrible  oath;  however,  the 
man  came  on,  but  whether  the  darkness  sufficed  to  frighten 
him,  or  whether  he  saw  something  suspicious  moving 
there,  it  was  evident  that  he  experienced  some  fear.  As 
he  reached  the  Hôtel  St.  Clare,  employing  that  old  ruse 
of  cowards  who  wish  to  appear  brave,  he  began  to  sing; 
but  as  he  advanced,  his  voice  trembled,  and  though  the 
innocence  of  the  song  proved  the  serenity  of  his  heart,  on 
arriving  opposite  the  passage  he  began  to  cough,  which, 
as  we  know,  in  the  gamut  of  terror,  indicates  a  greater 
degree  of  fear  than  singing.  Seeing,  however,  that 
nothing  moved  round  him,  he  took  courage,  and,  in  a  voice 
more  in  harmony  with  his  present  situation  than  with  the 
sense  of  the  words,  he  began,  — 

"  Then  let  me  go." 


140  THE  ciiF-VALiEii  d'ilvkmkntal. 

But  there  he  stopped  short,  not  only  in  his  song,  but  in 
his  walk;  for,  having  perceived  two  men  standing  in  a 
doorway,  he  felt  liis  voice  and  his  legs  fail  him  at  once, 
and  he  dreAv  up,  motionless  and  silent.  Unfortunately,  at 
this  moment  a  shadow  approached  the  window.  The 
coalheaver  saw  that  a  cry  might  lose  all,  and  moved,  as  if 
to  spring  on  the  passenger;  his  companion  held  him  back. 

"Captain,"  said  he,  "do  not  hurt  this  man;"  and  then, 
approaching  him,  "Pass  on,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "but 
pass  quickly,  and  do  not  look  back." 

The  singer  did  not  wait  to  be  told  twice,  but  made  off 
as  fast  as  his  little  legs  and  his  trembling  condition 
allowed,  so  that  in  a  few  minutes  he  had  disappeared  at 
the  corner  of  the  Hôtel  de  Toulouse. 

"'Twas  time,"  murmured  the  coalheaver;  "they  are 
opening  the  window." 

The  two  men  drew  back  as  far  as  possible  into  the 
shade.  The  window  was  opened,  and  one  of  the  light 
horse  appeared  on  the  balcony. 

"Well?"  said  a  voice,  which  the  coalheaver  and  his 
companion  recognised  as  that  of  the  regent,  from  the 
interior  of  the  room.  "Well,  Simiane,  what  kind  of 
weather  is  it?" 

"Oh!"  replied  Simiane,   "I  think  it  snows." 

"You  think  it  snows?" 

"Or  rains,  I  do  not  know  which,"  continued  Simiane. 

"What  !  "  said  Ravanne,  "can  you  not  tell  what  is  fall- 
ing?" and  he  also  came  on  to  the  balcony. 

"After  all,"  said  Simiane,  "I  am  not  sure  that  anything 
is  falling." 

"He  is  dead  drunk,"  said  the  regent. 

"I!"  said  Simiane,  wounded  in  his  amour  jpropre  as  a 
toper,  "I  dead  drunk!     Come  here,  monseigneur,  come." 

Though  the  invitation  was  given  in  a  strange  manner, 
the  regent  joined  his  companions,  laughing.  By  his  gait 
it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  himself  was  more  than  warmed. 

"Ah!   dead    drunk,"    replied   Simiane,    holding  out  his 


THE  RUE  DES  BONS  ENFANTS.  141 

Hand  to  the  prince.  "Well,  I  bet  you  a  hundred  louis  that, 
regent  of  France  as  you  are,  you  will  not  do  what  I  do." 

"You  hear,  monseigneur,"  said  a  female  voice  from  the 
room;  "it  is  a  challenge." 

"And  as  such  I  accept  it." 

"Done,  for  a  hundred  louis." 

"I  go  halves  with  whoever  likes,"  said  Ravanne. 

"Bet  with  the  marchioness,"  said  Simiane;  "I  admit  no 
one  into  my  game." 

"Nor  T,"  said  the  regent. 

"Marchioness,"  cried  Ravanne,  "fifty  louis  to  a  kiss." 

"Ask  Philippe  if  he  permits  it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  regent,  "it  is  a  golden  bargain 5  you  are 
sure  to  win.     Well,  are  you  ready,  Simiane  ?  " 

"I  am;  will  you  follow  me  ?" 

"Everywhere." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Look." 

"Where  the  devil  are  you  going?" 

"  I  am  going  into  the  Palais  Royal." 

"How?" 

"By  the  roofs." 

And  Simiane,  seizing  that  kind  of  iron  fan  which  we 
have  said  separated  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room  from 
those  of  the  bedrooms,  began  to  climb  like  an  ape. 

"Monseigneur,"  cried  Madame  de  Sabran,  bounding  on 
to  the  balcony,  and  catching  the  prince  by  the  arm,  "I 
hope  you  will  not  follow." 

"Not  follow!"  said  the  regent,  freeing  himself  from 
the  marchioness's  arm;  "do  you  know  that  I  hold  as  a 
principle  that  whatever  another  man  tries  I  can  do  ?  If 
he  goes  up  to  the  moon,  devil  take  me  if  I  am  not  there 
to  knock  at  the  door  as  soon  as  he.  Did  you  bet  on  me, 
Kavanne  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  prince,"  replied  the  young  man,  laughing. 

"  Then  take  your  kiss,  you  have  won  ;  "  and  the  regent 
seized  the  iron  bars,  climbing  behind  Simiane,  who,  active, 
tall,  and  slender,  was  in  an  instant  on  the  terrace. 


142  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

"But  I  hope  you,  at  least,  will  remain,  Eavanne?"  said 
the  marchioiicsfj. 

"Long  enough  to  claim  your  stakes,"  said  the  young 
man,  kissing  the  beautiful  fresh  cheeks  of  ^Madame  do 
Sabran.  "Now,  adieu,"  continued  he,  "  I  am  monseigneur's 
page;  you  understand  that  1  must  follow  him." 

And  Ravanne  darted  on  to  the  perilous  road  already 
taken  by  his  companions.  The  coalheaver  and  the  man 
in  the  cloak  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment,  which 
was  repeated  along  the  street  as  if  every  door  liad  an 
echo. 

"  Ah  !  what  is  that  ?  "  said  Simiane,  who  had  arrived 
first  on  the  terrace. 

"Do  you  see  double,  drunkard?"  said  the  regent,  seiz- 
ing the  railing  of  the  terrace.  "It  is  the  watch,  and  you 
will  get  us  taken  to  the  guard-house;  but  I  promise  you  I 
will  leave  you  there." 

At  these  words  those  who  were  in  the  street  were  silent, 
hoping  that  the  duke  and  his  companions  would  push  the 
joke  no  further,  but  would  come  down  and  go  oiit  by  the 
ordinary  road. 

"Oh!  here  I  am,"  said  the  regent,  landing  on  the  ter- 
race; "have  you  had  enough,   Simiane?" 

"No,  monseigneur,"  replied  Simiane;  and,  bending 
down  to  Ravanne,  "that  is  not  the  watch,"  continued  he, 
"not  a  musket, —  not  a  jerkin." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  regent. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Simiane,  making  a  sign  to  Ravanne, 
"except  that  I  continue  my  ascent,  and  invite  you  to 
follow  me." 

And  at  these  words,  holding  out  his  hand  to  the  regent, 
he  began  to  scale  the  roof,  drawing  him  after  him. 
Ravanne  brought  up  the  rear. 

At  this  sight,  as  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt  of  their 
intention,  the  coalheaver  uttered  a  malediction,  and  the 
man  in  the  cloak  a  cry  of  rage. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  "  said  the  regent,  striding  on  the  roof,  and 


THE   RUE    DES    BONS   ENFANTS.  143 

looking  down  the  street,  where,  by  the  light  from  the  open 
window,  they  saw  eight  or  ten  men  moving,  "what  the 
devil  is  that?  a  plot!  Ah!  one  would  suppose  they 
wanted  to  scale  the  house,  —  they  are  furious.  1  have  a 
mind  to  ask  them  what  we  can  do  to  help  them.". 

"No  joking,  monseigneur,"  said  Simianc^;  "let  us  go  on." 

"Turn  by  the  Rue  St.  Honoré,"  said  the  man  in  the 
cloak.     "Forward,   forward." 

"They  are  pursuing  us,"  said  Simiane;  "  quick  to  the 
other  side;  back." 

"I  do  not  know  what  prevents  me,"  said  the  man  in  the 
cloak,  drawing  a  pistol  from  his  belt  and  aiming  at  the 
regent,  "from  bringing  him  down  like  a  partridge." 

"  Thousand  furies  !  "  cried  the  coalheaver,  stopping  him, 
"you  will  get  us  all  hung  and  quartered." 

"But  what  are  we  to  do? " 

"  Wait  till  they  come  down  alone  and  break  their  necks, 
for,  if  Providence  is  just,  that  little  surprise  awaits  us." 

"  What  an  idea,  Roquefinette  !  " 

"Eh!  colonel;  no  names,  if  you  please." 

"  You  are  right.     Pardleu  !  " 

"There  is  no  need;  let  us  have  the  idea." 

"Follow  me,"  cried  the  man  in  the  cloak,  springing  into 
the  passage.  "  Let  us  break  open  the  door  and  we  will  take 
them  on  the  other  side  wlien  they  jump  down." 

And  all  that  remained  of  his  companions  followed 
him.  The  others,  to  the  number  of  five  or  six,  were 
already  making  for  the  Rue  St.  Honoré. 

"Let  us  go,  monseigneur,"  said  Simiane;  "we  have  not 
a  minute  to  lose;  slide  on  your  back.  It  is  not  glorious, 
but  it  is  safe." 

"I  think  I  hear  them  in  the  passage,"  said  the  regent; 
"  what  do  you  think,  Ravanne  ?  " 

"I  do  not  think  at  all,"  said  Ravanne,  "I  let  myself 
slip." 

And  all  three  descended  rapidly,  and  arrived  on  the 
terrace. 


144  THE   CUEVALIEK    D'HARMENTAL. 

"Here,  here!"  said  a  woman's  voice,  at  the  moment 
when  Simiane  strode  over  the  parapet  to  descend  his  iron 
ladder. 

"Ah!  is  it  you,   marchioness?"   said  the  regent;  "you 
are  indeed  a  friend  in  need." 
"Jump  in  here,  and  quickly." 

The  three  fugitives  sprang  into  the  room. 

"Do  you  like  to  stop  here?"  asked  Madame  de  Sabran. 

"Yes,"  said  Kavanne;  "I  will  go  and  look  for  Canillac 
and  his  night-watch." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  regent  ;  "they  will  be  scaling  your 
house  and  treating  it  as  a  town  taken  by  assault.  Let  us 
gain  the  Palais  Royal." 

And  they  descended  the  staircase  rapidly  and  opened 
the  garden  door.  There  they  heard  the  despairing  blows 
of  their  pursuers  against  the  iron  gates. 

"Strike,  strike,  my  friends,"  said  the  regent,  running 
with  the  carelessness  and  activity  of  a  young  man;  "the 
gate  is  solid,  and  will  give  you  plenty  of  work." 

"Quick,  quick,  monseigneur,"  cried  Simiane,  who, 
thanks  to  his  great  height,  had  jumped  to  the  ground 
hanging  by  his  arms,  "there  they  are  at  the  end  of  the 
Rue  de  Valois.  Put  your  foot  on  my  shoulder, —  now  the 
other, —  and  let  yourself  slip  into  my  arms.  You  are 
saved,  thank  God." 

"Draw  your  sword,  Ravanne,  and  let  us  charge  these 
fellows,"  said  the  regent. 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven,  monseigneur,"  cried  Simiane, 
"follow  us.  I  am  not  a  coward,  I  believe,  but  what  you 
would  do  is  mere  folly.     Here,  Ravanne." 

And  the  young  men,  each  taking  one  of  the  duke's  arms, 
led  him  down  a  passage  of  the  Palais  Royal  at  the  moment 
when  those  who  were  running  by  the  Rue  de  Valois  were 
at  twenty  paces  from  them,  and  when  the  door  of  the 
passage  fell  under  the  efforts  of  the  second  troop.  The 
whole  reunited  band  rushed  against  the  gate  at  the  moment 
that  tiie  three  gentlemen  closed  it  behind  them. 


THE  RUE  DES  BONS  ENFANTS.  145 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  regent,  saluting  with  his  hand, 
for  as  to  his  hat,  Heaven  knows  where  that  was,  "I  hope, 
for  the  sake  of  your  heads,  that  aJl  this  was  only  a  joke, 
for  you  are  attacking  those  who  are  stronger  than  your- 
selves. Beware  to-morrow  of  the  lieutenant  of  police. 
Meanwhile,   good  night." 

And  a  triple  shout  of  laughter  petrified  the  two  con- 
spirators leaning  against  the  gate  at  the  head  of  their 
breathless  companions. 

"This  man  must  have  a  compact  with  Satan,"  cried 
D'Harmental. 

"  We  have  lost  the  bet,  my  friends,  "  said  Roquefinette, 
addressing  his  men,  who  stood  waiting  for  orders,  "  but 
we  do  not  dismiss  you  yet;  it  is  only  postponed.  As  to 
the  promised  sum,  you  have  already  had  half  :  to-morrow  — 
you  know  where,  for  the  rest.  Good  evening.  I  shall  be 
at  the  rendezvous  to-morrow." 

All  the  people  dispersed,  and  the  two  chiefs  remained 
alone. 

"  Well,  colonel,"  said  Koquefinette,  looking  D'Harmental 
full  in  the  face. 

"Well,  captain,"  replied  the  chevalier;  "I  have  a  great 
mind  to  ask  one  thing  of  you." 

"What?"  asked  Roquefinette. 

"  To  follow  me  into  some  cross-road  and  blow  my  brains 
out  with  your  pistol,  that  this  miserable  head  may  be 
punished  and  not  recognised." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"Why?  Because  in  such  matters,  when  one  fails  one 
is  but  a  fool.  What  am  I  to  say  to  Madame  du  Maine 
now  ?  " 

"What!  "  cried  Roquefinette,  "  is  it  about  that  little  hop- 
o'-my-thumb  that  you  are  bothering  yourself?  Pardieu! 
you  are  frantically  susceptible,  colonel.  Why  the  devil 
does  not  her  lame  husband  attend  to  his  own  affairs.  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  your  prude  with  her  two  cardinals 
and  her  three   or  four  marquises,  who  are  bursting  with 

lu 


146  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

fear  a.t  this  moment  in  a  corner  of  the  arsenal,  while  wft 
remain  masters  of  the  field  of  battle.  1  should  like  to 
have  seen  if  they  would  have  climbed  walls  like  lizards. 
Stay,  colonel,  listen  to  an  old  fox.  To  be  a  good  conspir- 
ator, 3^ou  must  have,  first,  what  you  have,  courage;  but 
you  must  also  have  what  you  have  not,  patience.  Morhleu! 
if  I  had  such  an  affair  in  my  hands,  I  would  answer  lor 
it  that  I  would  bring  it  to  a  good  end,  and  if  you  like  to 
make  it  over  to  me  we  will  talk  of  that." 

"But  in  my  place,"  asked  the  colonel,  "what  would 
you  say  to  Madame  du  Maine  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  should  say,  'My  princess,  the  regent  must  have 
been  warned  by  his  police,  for  he  did  not  leave  as  we 
expected,  and  we  saw  none  but  his  roué  companions.' 
Then  the  Prince  de  Cellamare  will  say  to  you,  *My  dear 
D'Harmental,  we  have  no  resources  but  in  you.'  Madame 
du  Maine  will  say  that  all  is  not  lost  since  the  brave 
D'Harmental  remains  to  us.  The  Comte  de  Laval  will 
grasp  your  hand  trying  to  pay  you  a  compliment,  which 
he  will  not  finish,  because  since  his  jaw  is  broken  his 
tongue  is  not  active,  particularly  for  compliments.  The 
Cardinal  de  Folignac  will  make  the  sign  of  the  cross. 
Alberoni  will  swear  enough  to  shake  the  heavens.  In 
this  manner  you  will  have  conciliated  everybody,  saved 
your  amour  jjropre,  and  may  return  to  hide  in  your  attic, 
which  I  advise  you  not  to  leave  for  three  or  four  days  if 
you  do  not  wish  to  be  hung.  Frojn  time  to  time  I  will 
pay  you  a  visit.  You  will  continue  to  bestow  on  me  some 
of  the  liberalities  of  Spain,  because  it  is  of  importance  to 
me  to  live  agreeably,  and  keep  up  my  spirits;  then,  at  the 
first  opportunity  we  recall  our  brave  fellows,  and  take 
our  revenge." 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  D'Harmental;  "that  is  what  any 
other  would  do;  but  you  see  I  have  some  foolish  ideas  — 
I  cannot  lie." 

"Whoever  cannot  lie  cannot  act,"  replied  the  captain; 
"but  what  do  I  see  there?    The  bayonets  of  the  watch; 


THE  RUE  DES  BONS  ENFANTS.  147 

amicable  institution,  I  recognise  you  tliere;  always  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  too  late.  But  now  adieu,  colonel  ; 
there  is  your  road,  we  must  separate,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, showing  the  Passage  du  Palais  Koyal,  "and  here  is 
mine,"  added  he,  pointing  to  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits 
Champs.  "Go  quietly,  that  they  may  not  know  that  you 
ought  to  run  as  fast  as  you  can,  your  hand  on  your  hip 
so,  and  singing  La  Mère  Gaudichon."  And  the  captain 
followed  the  Eue  de  Valois  at  the  same  pace  as  the  watch, 
who  were  a  hundred  paces  behind  him,  singing  carelessly 
as  he  went. 

As  to  the  chevalier,  he  re-entered  the  Rue  des  P>ons 
Enfants,  now  as  quiet  as  it  had  been  noisy  ten  minutes 
before  ;  and  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Baillif  he  found  the 
carriage,  which,  according  to  its  orders,  had  not  moved, 
and  was  waiting  with  the  door  open,  the  servant  at  the 
step,  and  the  coachman  on  his  box. 

"To  the  arsenal,"  said  the  chevalier. 

"It  is  useless,"  said  a  voice  which  made  D'Harmental 
start;  "I  know  all  that  has  passed,  and  I  will  inform 
those  who  ought  to  know.  A  visit  at  this  hour  would  be 
dangerous  for  all." 

"  Is  it  you,  abbé  ?  "  said  D'Harmental,  trying  to  recog- 
nise Brigaud  in  the  livery  in  which  he  was  disguised;  " you 
would  render  me  a  real  service  in  taking  the  news  instead 
of  me,  for  on  my  honour  I  do  not  know  what  to  say." 

"Well,  I  shall  say,"  said  Brigaud,  "that  you  are  a  brave 
and  loyal  gentleman,  and  that  if  there  were  ten  like  you 
in  France,  all  would  soon  be  finished;  but  we  are  not  here 
to  pay  compliments  :  get  in  quickly.     Where  shall  I  take 


you 


?" 


"It  is  useless,"  said  D'Harmental;  "I  will  go  on  foot." 

"Get  in.     It  is  safer." 

D'Harmental  complied,  and  Brigaud,  dressed  as  he  was, 
came  and  sat  beside  him. 

"  To  the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Gros  Chenet  and  the  Rue 
de  Cléry,"  said  the  abbé. 


148  THE   CHEVALIEK   D  lIAliMENTAL. 

The  coachman,  inii)atieut  at  having  wailed  so  lung, 
obeyed  quickly.  At  the  place  indicated  the  carriage 
stopped;  the  chevalier  got  out,  and  soon  disappeared 
round  the  corner  of  the  E,ue  du  Temps  Perdu.  As  to  tlie 
carriage,  it  rolled  on  noiselessly  towards  the  Boulevards, 
like  a  fairy  car  which  does  not  touch  the  earth. 


JEAN    BU  VAT.  140 


CHAPTER   XV. 

JEAN    BUVAT. 

Our  readers  must  now  make  a  better  acquaintance  with 
one  of  the  principal  personages  in  the  history  which  we 
have  undertaken  to  relate,  of  whom  we  have  scarcely 
spoken.  We  would  refer  to  the  good  bourgeois  whom  we 
have  seen  quitting  the  group  in  the  Rue  de  Valois,  and 
making  for  the  Barrière  des  Sergents  at  the  moment  when 
the  street-singer  began  his  collection,  and  who,  it  will  be 
remembered,  we  have  since  seen  at  so  inopportune  a 
moment  in  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants, 

Heaven  preserve  us  from  questioning  the  intelligence  of 
our  readers,  so  as  to  doubt  for  a  moment  that  they  had 
recognised  in  the  poor  devil  to  whom  the  Chevalier  d'Har- 
mental  had  rendered  such  timely  assistance  the  good  man 
of  the  terrace  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu.  But  they  can- 
not know,  unless  we  tell  them  in  detail,  what  he  was 
physically,  morally,  and  socially.  If  the  reader  has  not 
forgotten  the  little  we  have  already  told  him,  it  will  be 
remembered  that  he  was  from  forty  to  forty-five  years  of 
age.  Now,  as  every  one  knows,  after  forty  years  of  age 
the  bourgeois  of  Paris  entirely  forgets  the  care  of  his 
person,  with  which  he  is  not  generally  much  occupied,  a 
negligence  from  which  his  corporeal  graces  suffer  consider- 
ably, particularly  when,  as  in  the  present  instance,  his 
appearance  is  not  to  be  admired. 

Our  bourgeois  was  a  little  man  of  five  feet  four,  short 
and  fat,  disposed  to  become  obese  as  he  advanced  in  age; 
and  with  one  of  those  placid  faces  where  all  —  hair,  eye- 
brows, eyes,  and  skin  —  seem  of  the  same  colour;  in  fact, 
one  of  those  faces  of  which,  at  ten  paces,  one  does  not 


l50  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HAUMENTAL. 

distinguish  a  feature.  The  most  enthusiastic  physiogno- 
mist, if  he  had  sought  to  read  on  this  countenance  some 
high  and  curious  destiny,  woukl  have  been  stopped  in  his 
examination  as  he  mounted  from  liis  great  blue  eyes  to  his 
depressed  forehead,  or  descended  from  liis  half-open  mouth 
to  the  fold  of  his  double  chin.  There  he  would  have 
understood  that  he  had  under  his  eyes  one  of  those  heads 
to  which  all  fermentation  is  unkiiown,  whose  fresluK  ss  is 
respected  by  the  passions,  good  or  bad,  and  wIjo  turn 
nothing  in  the  empty  corners  of  their  brain  but  the  burden 
of  some  old  nursery  song.  Let  us  add,  that  Providence, 
who  does  nothing  by  halves,  had  signed  tiie  original,  of 
which  we  have  just  oifered  a  copy  to  our  readers,  by  the 
characteristic  name  of  Jean  Buvat. 

It  is  true  that  the  persons  who  ought  to  have  appreciated 
the  profound  nullity  of  spirit  and  excellent  qualities  of 
heart  of  this  good  man  suppressed  his  patronymic,  and 
ordinarily  called  him  Le  Bonhomme  Buvat. 

From  his  earliest  youth  the  little  Buvat,  who  had  a 
marked  repugnance  for  all  other  kinds  of  study,  mani- 
fested a  particular  inclination  for  caligraphy:  thus  he 
arrived  every  morning  at  the  Collège  des  Oratoriens, 
where  his  mother  sent  him  gratis,  with  his  exercises  and 
translations  full  of  faults,  but  written  with  a  neatness, 
a  regularity,  and  a  beauty  which  it  was  charming  to  see. 
The  little  Buvat  was  whipped  every  day  for  the  idleness 
of  his  mind,  and  received  the  writing  prize  every  year  for 
the  skill  of  his  hand.  At  fifteen  years  of  age  he  passed 
from  the  Epitome  Sacrœ,  which  he  had  recommenced  five 
times,  to  the  Epitome  Grsecae;  but  the  professor  soon  per- 
ceived that  this  was  too  much  for  him,  and  put  him  back 
for  the  sixth  time  in  the  Epitome  Sacrae.  Passive  as  he 
appeared,  young  Buvat  was  not  wanting  in  a  certain  pride. 
He  came  home  in  the  evening  crying  to  his  mother,  and 
complaining  of  the  injustice  which  had  been  done  him, 
declaring  in  his  grief  a  thing  which  till  then  he  had 
been  careful  not  to  confess,   namely,  that  there  were  in 


JEAN    BUVAT.  151 

the  school  children  of  ten  years  old  more  advanced  than 
he  was. 

Widow  Buvat,  who  saw  her  son  start  every  morning 
with  his  exercises  perfectly  neat,  (wliich  led  her  to  believe 
that  there  could  be  no  fault  to  be  found  with  them,)  went 
the  next  day  to  abuse  the  good  fathers.  They  replied  that 
her  sou  was  a  good  boy,  incapable  of  an  evil  thought 
towards  God,  or  a  bad  action  towards  his  neighbour:  but 
that  at  the  same  time  he  was  so  awfully  stupid  that  they 
advised  her  to  develop,  by  making  him  a  writing  master, 
the  only  talent  with  which  nature  had  blessed  him.  This 
counsel  was  a  ray  of  light  for  Madame  Buvat;  she  under- 
stood that,  in  this  manner,  the  benefit  she  should  derive 
from  her  son  would  be  immediate.  She  came  back  to  her 
house,  and  communicated  to  her  son  the  new  plans  she 
had  formed  for  him.  Young  Buvat  saw  in  this  only  a 
means  of  escaping  the  castigation  which  he  received  every 
morning,  for  which  the  prize,  bound  in  calf,  that  he 
received  every  year  was  not  a  compensation. 

He  received  the  propositions  of  his  mother  with  great 
joy;  promised  her  that,  before  six  months  were  over,  he 
would  be  the  first  writing-master  in  the  capital;  and  the 
same  day,  after  having  from  his  little  savings  bought  a 
knife  with  four  blades,  a  packet  of  quills,  and  two  copy- 
books, set  himself  to  the  work.  The  good  Oratoriens 
were  not  deceived  as  to  the  true  vocation  of  young  Buvat. 
Caligraphy  was  with  him  an  art  which  almost  became 
drawing.  At  the  end  of  six  months,  like  the  ape  in  the 
Arabian  Nights,  he  wrote  six  kinds  of  writing;  and 
imitated  men's  faces,  trees,  and  animals.  At  the  end  of 
a  year  he  had  made  such  progress  that  he  thought  he 
might  now  give  out  his  prospectus.  He  worked  at  it  for 
three  months,  day  and  night;  and  almost  lost  his  sight 
over  it.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  had  accomplished  a 
chef-<Vœuvre. 

It  was  not  a  simple  writing,  but  a  real  picture  represent- 
ing the  creation  of  the  world,  and  divided  almost  like  The 


152  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENÏAL. 

Transfiguration  of  Raphael.  In  the  upper  part,  consecrated 
to  Eden,  was  the  Eternal  Father  drawing  Eve  from  the 
side  of  the  sleeping  Adam,  and  surrounded  by  those 
animals  which  the  nobility  of  their  nature  brings  near  to 
man,  such  as  the  lion,  the  horse,  and  the  dog.  At  the 
bottom  was  the  sea,  in  the  depths  of  which  were  to  be  seen 
swimming  the  most  fantastic  fishes,  and  on  the  surface  a 
superb  three-decked  vessel.  On  the  two  sides,  trees  full 
of  birds  put  the  heavens,  which  they  touched  with  their 
topmost  branches,  in  communication  with  the  earth,  which 
they  grasped  with  their  roots  ;  and  in  the  space  left  in  the 
middle  of  all  this,  in  the  most  perfectly  horizontal  line, 
and  reproduced  in  six  different  writings,  was  the  adverb 
"pitilessly."  This  time  the  artist  was  not  deceived;  the 
picture  produced  the  effect  which  he  expected.  A  week 
afterwards  young  Buvat  had  five  male  and  two  female 
scholars.  His  reputation  increased  ;  and  Madame  Buvat, 
after  some  time  passed  in  greater  ease  than  she  had  known 
even  in  her  husband's  lifetime,  had  the  satisfaction  of 
dying  perfectly  secure  about  her  son's  future. 

As  to  him,  after  having  sufficiently  mourned  his  mother, 
he  pursued  the  course  of  his  life,  one  day  exactly  like  the 
other.  He  arrived  thus  at  the  age  of  twenty-six  or  twenty- 
seven,  having  passed  the  stormy  part  of  existence  in  the 
eternal  calm  of  his  innocent  and  virtuous  good  nature.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  the  good  man  found  an  opportu- 
nity of  doing  a  suoiiine  action,  which  he  did  instinctively 
and  simply,  as  he  did  everything;  but  perhaps  a  man  of 
mind  might  have  passed  it  over  without  seeing  it,  or 
turned  away  from  it  if  he  had  seen  it.  There  was  in  the 
house  No.  6  in  the  Rue  des  Orties,  of  which  Buvat 
occupied  the  attio,  a  young  couple  who  were  the  admira- 
tion of  the  whole  quarter  for  the  harmony  in  which  they 
lived.  They  appeared  made  for  each  other.  The  hus- 
band was  a  man  of  from  thirty-four  to  thirty-five  years 
of  age,  of  a  southern  origin,  with  black  eyes,  beard,  and 
hair,  sunburnt  complexion,  and  teeth  like  pearls.     He  was 


JEAN   BUVAT.  153 

called  Albert  du  Rocher,  and  was  tlie  son  of  an  ancient 
Cévenol  chief,  who  had  been  forced  to  turn  Catholic,  with 
all  his  family,  at  the  persecutions  of  Monsieur  Baville; 
and  half  from  opposition,  half  because  youth  seeks  youth, 
he  had  entered  the  household  of  M.  le  Duc  de  Chartres, 
which  was  being  reformed  just  at  that  time,  having  suf- 
fered much  in  the  campaign  preceding  the  battle  of 
Steinkirk,  where  the  prince  had  made  his  début  in  arms. 
Du  Rocher  had  obtained  the  place  of  La  Neuville,  who 
had  been  killed  in  that  charge  which,  conducted  by  the 
Due  de  Chartres,  had  decided  the  victory. 

The  winter  had  interrupted  the  campaign,  but  in  the 
spring  M,  de  Luxembourg  had  recalled  all  those  ofiicers  who 
shared  their  life  between  war  and  pleasure.  The  Due  de 
Chartres,  always  eager  to  draw  a  sword  which  the  jealousy 
of  Louis  XIV.  had  so  often  replaced  in  the  scabbard,  was 
one  of  the  first  to  answer  this  appeal.  Du  Rocher  followed 
him  with  all  his  military  household.  The  great  day  of 
Neerwinden  arrived.  The  Due  de  Chartres  had,  as  usual, 
the  command  of  the  guards  ;  as  usual  he  charged  at  their 
head,  but  so  furiously  that  five  times  he  found  himself 
almost  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy.  At  the  fifth 
time  he  had  near  him  only  a  young  man  whom  he  scarcely 
knew;  but  in  the  rapid  glance  which  he  cast  on  him  he 
recognised  one  of  those  spirits  on  whom  one  may  rely,  and 
instead  of  yielding,  as  a  brigadier  of  the  enemy's  army 
who  had  recognised  him  proposed  to  him,  he  blew  the  pro- 
poser's brains  out  with  his  pistol.  At  the  same  instant 
two  shots  were  fired,  one  of  which  took  off  the  prince's 
hat,  and  the  other  turned  from  the  handle  of  his  sword. 
Scarcely  had  these  two  shots  been  fired  when  those  who 
had  discharged  them  fell  simultaneously,  thrown  down  by 
the  prince's  companion,  —  one  by  a  sabre-stroke,  the  other 
by  a  bullet.  A  general  attack  took  place  on  these  two 
men,  who  were  miraculously  saved  from  any  ball.  The 
prince's  horse,  however,  fell  under  him.  The  young  man 
who  was  with  him  jumped  from  his,  and  offered  it  to  him. 


154  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

Tlio  piince  hesitated  to  accept  this  service,  whicli  might 
cost  him  who  rendered  it  so  dear;  but  the  youug  man,  who 
was  tall  and  powerful,  tliinking  that  this  was  not  a 
moment  to  exchange  politenesses,  took  the  prince  in  his 
arms  and  forced  him  into  the  saddle.  At  tliis  moment, 
M.  d'Arcy,  who  had  lost  his  pupil  in  the  mêlée,  and  who 
was  seeking  for  him  with  a  detachment  of  light  horse, 
came  up,  just  as,  in  spite  of  their  courage,  the  prince  and 
his  companion  were  about  to  be  killed  or  taken.  Both 
were  without  wound,  although  the  prince  had  received 
four  bullets  in  his  (dothes.  The  Due  de  Chartres  held  out 
his  hand  to  his  companion,  and  asked  him  his  name;  for, 
although  his  face  was  known  to  him,  he  had  been  so  short 
a  time  in  his  service  that  he  did  not  remember  his  name. 
The  young  man  replied  tliat  he  was  called  Albert  du 
Rocher,  and  that  he  had  taken  the  place  of  La  Neuville, 
who  was  killed  at  Steinkirk. 

Then,  turning  towards  those  who  had  just  arrived,  — 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  prince,  "you  have  prevented  me 
from  being  taken,  but  this  gentleman,"  pointing  to  Du 
Rocher,  "has  saved  me  from  being  killed." 

At  the  end  of  the  campaign,  the  Due  de  Chartres  named 
Du  Rocher  his  first  equerry,  and,  three  years  afterv/ards, 
having  retained  the  grateful  affection  which  he  had  vowed 
to  him,  he  married  him  to  a  young  person  whom  he  loved, 
and  gave  her  a  dov/ry. 

As  M.  le  Duc  de  Chartres  was  still  but  a  young  man, 
this  dowry  was  not  large,  but  he  promised  to  take  charge 
of  the  advancement  of  his  protégée.  This  young  person 
was  of  English  origin;  her  mother  had  accompanied 
Madame  Henriette  when  she  came  to  France  to  marry 
Monsieur;  and  after  that  princess  had  been  poisoned  by 
the  Chevalier  d'Effiat,  she  had  passed,  as  lady  in  wait- 
ing, into  the  service  of  tlie  Grande  Dauphine.  But  in  1690 
the  Grande  Dauphine  died,  and  the  Englishwoman,  in  her 
insular  pride,  refused  to  stay  with  Mademoiselle  Choin, 
and  retired  to  ;j  little  country  house  which  she  hired  near 


JEAN    lîUVAT.  l.JO 

St.  Cloud,  where  she  gave  herself  up  entirely  to  the  educa- 
tion of  her  little  Clarice.  It  was  in  the  journeys  of  the 
Due  de  Chartres  to  St.  Cloud  that  Du  Rocher  made  ac- 
quaintance with  this  young  girl,  whom,  as  we  have  said, 
he  married  in  1607.  It  was,  then,  these  young  people 
who  occupied  the  first  floor  of  the  house  of  which  liuvat 
had  the  attic.  The  young  couple  had  first  a  son,  whose 
caligraphic  education  was  confided  to  Buvat  from  the  age 
of  four  years.  The  young  pupil  was  making  the  most 
satisfactory  progress  when  he  was  carried  olî  by  the 
measles.  The  despair  of  the  parents  was  great;  Buvat 
shared  it,  the  more  sincerely  that  his  pupil  had  shown 
such  aptitude.  This  sympathy  for  their  grief  on  the  part 
of  a  stranger  attached  them  to  him;  and  one  day,  when 
the  young  man  was  complaining  of  tlie  precarious  future 
of  artists,  Albert  du  Rocher  proposed  to  him  to  use  his 
influence  to  procure  him  a  place  at  the  government  library. 
Buvat  jumped  with  joy  at  the  idea  of  becoming  a  public 
functionary;  and,  a  month  afterwards,  Buvat  received  his 
brevet  as  employee  at  the  library  in  the  manuscript  depart- 
ment, with  a  salary  of  nine  huulrod  livres  a  year.  From 
this  day,  Buvat,  in  the  pride  natural  to  his  new  position, 
neglected  his  scholars,  and  gave  himself  up  entirely  to  the 
preparation  of  forms.  Nine  hundred  livres,  secured  to  the 
end  of  his  life,  was  quite  a  fortune,  and  the  worthy  writer, 
thanks  to  the  royal  munificence,  began  to  lead  a  life  of 
ease  and  comfort,  promising  his  good  neighbours  that,  if 
they  had  a  second  child,  no  one  but  himself  should  teach 
him  to  write.  On  their  part,  the  poor  parents  wished 
much  to  give  this  increase  of  occupation  to  the  worthy 
writer.  God  granted  their  desire.  Towards  the  termina- 
tion of  1702,   Clarice  was  delivered  of  a  daughter. 

Great  was  the  joy  through  the  whole  house.  Buvat  did 
not  feel  at  all  at  his  ease;  he  ran  up  and  down  stairs, 
beating  his  thighs  with  his  hands,  and  singing  below  his 
breath  the  burden  of  his  favourite  song,  "  Then  let  me  go, 
and  let  me  play,"  etc.     That  day,  for  th.e  first  time  since 


15G  THE    CIIKVALIEK    j/lIAKMENTAL. 

he  had  been  appointed,  that  is  to  say,  during  two  years, 
he  arrived  at  his  office  at  a  quarter  past  ten,  instead  of  ten 
o'clock  exactly.  A  supernumerary,  who  thought  that  he 
must  be  dead,  had  asked  for  his  place. 

The  little  Bathilde  was  not  a  week  old  before  Buvat 
wished  to  begin  teaching  her  her  strokes  and  pot-hooks, 
saying  that,  to  learn  a  thing  well,  it  is  necessary  to  com- 
mence young.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he 
was  made  to  understand  that  he  must  wait  till  she  was 
tww  or  three  years  old.  He  resigned  himself;  but,  in 
expectation  of  that  time,  he  set  about  preparing  copies. 
At  the  end  of  three  years  Clarice  kept  her  word,  and  Buvat 
had  the  satisfaction  of  solemnly  putting  her  first  pen  into 
the  hands  of  Bathilde. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  the  year  1707,  and  the  Due  de 
Chartres  had  become  Due  d'Orléans  by  the  death  of 
Monsieur,  and  had  at  last  obtained  a  command  in  Spain, 
where  he  was  to  conduct  the  troops  to  the  Maréchal  de 
Berwick. 

Orders  were  directly  given  to  all  his  military  household 
to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  for  the  5th  of  March.  As 
first  equerry,  it  was  necessary  that  Albert  should  accom- 
pany the  prince.  This  news,  which  would  have  formerly 
given  him  the  highest  joy,  made  him  now  almost  sad,  for 
the  health  of  Clarice  began  to  fill  him  with  the  greatest 
uneasiness  ;  and  the  doctor  had  allowed  the  word  consump- 
tion to  escape  him.  Whether  Clarice  felt  herself  seriously 
attacked,  or  whether,  more  natural  still,  she  feared  only 
for  her  husband,  her  burst  of  grief  was  so  wild  that  Albert 
himself  could  not  help  crying  with  her,  and  little  Bathilde 
and  Buvat  cried  because  they  saw  the  others  cry. 

The  5th  of  March  arrived;  it  was  the  day  fixed  for  the 
departure.  In  spite  of  her  grief,  Clarice  had  busied  her- 
self with  her  husband's  outfit,  and  had  wished  that  it  was 
worthy  of  the  prince  whom  he  accompanied.  Moreover, 
in  the  midst  of  her  tears  a  ray  of  proud  joy  lit  up  her  face 
when  she  saw  Albert  in  his  elegant  uniform,  and  on  his 


JEAN   BU  VAT.  157 

noble  war-lîorse.  As  to  Albert,  lie  was  full  of  liope  and 
pride;  the  poor  wife  smiled  sadly  at  his  dreams  for  the 
future;  but  in  order  not  to  dispirit  him  at  this  moment 
she  shut  her  grief  up  in  her  own  heart,  and,  silencing 
fears  which  she  h;id  for  lii;n,  and  perhaps  also  those 
which  she  experienced  for  herself,  she  was  the  first  to  say 
to  him,  "Think  not  of  me,  but  of  your  honour." 

The  Due  d'Orléans  and  his  corps  d'armée  entered  Cata- 
lonia in  the  first  days  of  April,  and  advanced  directl}-, 
by  forced  marches,  across  Aragon.  On  arriving  at 
Segorbe,  the  duke  learnt  that  the  Maréchal  de  Berwick 
held  himself  in  readiness  for  a  decisive  battle;  and  in  his 
eagerness  to  arrive  in  time  to  take  part  in  the  action,  he 
sent  Albert  on  at  full  speed,  charging  him  to  tell  the 
marshal  that  the  Due  d'Orléans  was  coming  to  his  aid 
with  ten  thousand  men,  and  to  pray  that,  if  it  did  not 
interfere  with  his  arrangements,  he  would  wait  for  him 
before  joining  battle. 

Albert  left,  but  bewildered  in  the  mountains,  and  misled 
by  ignorant  guides,  he  was  only  a  day  before  the  army, 
and  he  arrived  at  the  marshal's  camp  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  engagement  was  going  to  commence.  Albert 
asked  where  the  marshal  was;  they  showed  his  position 
on  the  left  of  the  army^  on  a  little  hill,  from  which  he 
overlooked  the  whole  plain.  The  Due  de  Berwick  was 
there  surrounded  by  his  staff;  Albert  put  his  horse  to  the 
gallop,  and  made  straight  towards  him. 

The  messenger  introduced  himself  to  the  marshal  and 
told  him  the  cause  of  his  coming.  The  marshal's  only 
answer  was  to  point  to  the  field  of  battle,  and  tell  him  to 
return  to  the  prince,  and  inform  him  what  he  had  seen. 
But  Albert  had  smelt  powder,  and  was  not  willing  to 
leave  thus.  He  asked  permission  to  wait  till  he  could  at 
least  give  him  the  news  of  a  victory.  At  that  moment 
a  charge  of  dragoons  seemed  necessary  to  the  marshal;  he 
told  one  of  his  aides-de-camp  to  carry  the  order  to  charge 
to  the  colonel.     The  young  man  started  at  a  gallop,  but 


158  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

he  had  scarcely  gone  a  tliirti  of  the  distance  which  sepa- 
rated the  hill  from  the  position  of  the  regiment,  wlien  his 
head  was  carried  off  by  a  cannon-ball.  Scarcely  had  he 
fallen  from  his  stirrups  when  Albert,  seizing  this  occasion 
to  take  part  in  the  battle,  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  trans- 
mitted the  order  to  the  colonel,  and,  instead  of  returning  to 
the  marshal,  drew  his  sword,  and  charged  at  the  head  of 
the  regiment. 

This  charge  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  day, 
and  penetrated  so  completely  to  the  heart  of  the  imperial 
guard,  that  they  began  to  give  way.  The  marshal  had 
involuntarily  watched  the  young  officer  throughout  the 
mêlée,  recognising  him  by  liis  uniform.  He  saw  him 
arrive  at  the  enemy's  standard,  engage  in  a  personal  con- 
test with  him  who  carried  it;  then,  when  the  regiment 
had  taken  flight,  he  saw  him  retiirning  with  his  conquest 
in  his  arms.  On  reaching  the  marshal  he  threw  the 
colours  at  his  feet;  opening  his  mouth  to  speak,  instead 
of  words,  it  was  blood  that  came  to  his  lips.  The  marshal 
saw  him  totter  in  his  saddle,  and  advanced  to  support  him, 
but  before  he  had  time  to  do  so  Albert  had  fallen;  a  ball 
had  pierced  his  breast.  The  marshal  sprang  from  his 
horse,  but  the  brave  young  man  lay  dead  on  the  standard 
he  had  just  taken.  The  Due  d'Orléans  arrived  the  day 
after  the  battle.  He  regretted  Albert  as  one  regrets  a 
gallant  gentleman  ;  but,  after  all,  he  had  died  the  death  of 
the  brave,  in  the  midst  of  victory,  and  on  the  colours  he 
himself  had  taken.  What  more  could  be  desired  by  a 
Frenchman,   a  soldier,   and  a  gentleman? 

The  duke  wrote  with  his  own  hand  to  the  poor  widow. 
If  anything  could  console  a  wife  for  the  death  of  her 
husband,  it  would  doubtless  be  such  a  letter;  but  poor 
Clarice  thought  but  of  one  thing,  that  she  had  no  longer 
a  husband,  and  that  her  eliiid  had  no  longer  a  father.  At 
four  o'clock  Buvat  came  in  from  the  library;  they  told 
him  that  Clarice  wanted  him,  and  he  went  down  directly. 
The  poor  woman  did  not  cry,   she  did  not  complain;  she 


JEAN   BU  VAT.  159 

stood  tearless  and  speechless,  her  eyes  fixed  and  hollow  as 
those  of  a  maniac.  When  Buvat  entered,  she  did  not  even 
turn  her  head  towards  him,  but,  merely  holding  out  her 
hand,  she  presented  him  the  letter.  Buvat  looked  right 
and  left  to  endeavour  to  liud  out  what  was  the  matter,  but 
seeing  nothing  to  direct  his  conjectures,  he  looked  at  the 
paper  and  read  aloud  :  — 

Madame,  —  Your  husband  has  died  for  France  and  for  me. 
Neither  France  nor  I  can  give  you  back  your  husband  ;  but  remem- 
ber that,  if  ever  you  are  in  want  of  anything,  we  are  both  your 
debtors. 

Your  affectionate 

Philippe  d'Orléans. 

"  What  !  "  cried  Buvat,  fixing  his  great  eyes  on  Clarice, 
"  M.  du  Rocher,  —  it  is  not  possible  !  " 

"Papa  is  dead,"  said  little  Bathilde,  leaving  the  corner 
where  she  was  playing  with  her  doll,  and  running  to  her 
mother;  "is  it  true  that  papa  is  dead  ?" 

"  Alas  !  yes,  my  dear  child  !  "  said  Clarice,  finding  at 
once  words  and  tears.  "Oh,  yes,  it  is  true;  it  is  but  too 
true,  unhappy  that  we  are  !  " 

"Madame,"  said  Buvat,  who  had  been  seeking  for  some 
consolation  to  offer,  "you  must  not  grieve  thus;  perhaps 
it  is  a  false  report." 

"Do  you  not  see  that  the  letter  is  from  the  Due 
d'Orléans  himself?  "  cried  the  poor  widow.  "  Yes,  my 
child,  your  father  is  dead.  Weep,  my  child;  perhaps  in 
seeing  your  tears  God  will  have  pity  on  me."  And  saying 
these  things,  the  poor  widow  coiighed  so  painfully  that 
Buvat  felt  his  own  breast  torn  by  it;  but  his  fright  was 
still  greater  when  he  saw  that  the  handkerchief  which  she 
drew  from  her  mouth  was  covered  with  blood.  Then  he 
understood  that  a  greater  misfortune  threatened  Bathilde 
than  that  which  had  just  befallen  her. 

The  apartments  which  Clarice  occupied  were  now  too 
large  for  her.     No  one  was  astonished  when  she  left  them 


160  THE    CHEVALIER   d'IIAKMENTAL. 

for  smaller  ones  on  the  second  floor.  Besides  her  grief, 
which  annihilated  all  her  other  faculties,  Clarice  felt,  in 
common  with  all  other  noble  hearts,  a  certain  unwilling- 
ness to  ask,  even  from  her  country,  a  reward  for  the  blood 
which  had  been  spilt  for  it,  particularly  when  that  blood 
is  still  warm,  as  was  that  of  Albert.  The  poor  widow 
hesitated  to  present  herself  to  the  minister  at  war  to  ask 
for  her  due.  At  the  end  of  three  months,  when  she  took 
courage  to  make  the  hrst  steps,  the  taking  of  Requena  and 
that  of  Saragossa  had  already  thrown  into  the  shade  the 
battle  of  Almanza.  Clarice  showed  the  prince's  letter. 
The  secretary  replied  that  with  such  a  letter  she  could  not 
fail  in  obtaining  what  she  wanted,  but  that  she  must  wait 
for  his  Highness's  return.  Clarice  looked  in  a  glass  at  her 
emaciated  face,  and  smiled  sadly. 

"Wait!"  said  she;  "yes,  it  would  be  better,  but  God 
knows  if  I  shall  have  the  time." 

The  result  of  this  repulse  was,  that  Clarice  left  her 
lodging  on  the  second  floor  for  two  little  rooms  on  the 
third.  The  poor  widow  had  no  other  fortune  than  her 
husband's  savings.  The  little  dowry  which  the  duke  had 
given  her  had  disajDpeared  in  the  purchase  of  furniture 
and  her  husband's  outfit.  As  the  new  lodging  which  she 
took  was  much  smaller  than  the  other,  no  one  was  aston- 
ished that  Clarice  sold  part  of  her  furniture. 

The  return  of  the  Due  d'Orléans  was  expected  in  the 
autumn,  and  Clarice  counted  on  this  to  ameliorate  her 
situation;  but,  contrary  to  the  usual  custom,  the  army, 
instead  of  taking  winter  quarters,  continued  the  campaign, 
and  news  arrived  that,  instead  of  returning,  the  duke 
was  about  to  lay  siege  to  Lerida.  Now,  in  1647,  the  great 
Conde  himself  had  failed  before  Lerida,  and  the  new  siege, 
even  supposing  that  it  ever  came  to  a  successful  issue, 
threatened  to  be  of  a  terrible  length. 

Clarice  risked  some  new  advances.  This  time  they  had 
forgotten  even  her  husband's  name.  She  had  again  re- 
course to  the  prince's  letter,  which  had  its  ordinary  effect; 


JEAN   BUY  AT.  161 

but  they  told  her  that  after  the  seige  of  Lerida  the  duke 
could  not  fail  to  return,  and  the  poor  widow  was  again 
obliged  to  wait 

She  left  her  two  rooms  for  a  little  attic  opposite  that  of 
Buvat,  and  she  sold  the  rest  of  her  furniture,  only  keeping 
a  table,  some  chairs,  Bathilde's  little  cot,  and  a  bed  for 
herself. 

Buvat  had  seen,  without  taking  much  notice,  these 
frequent  removals,  but  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  under- 
stand his  neighbour's  situation.  Buvat,  who  was  a  care- 
ful man,  had  some  savings  which  he  had  a  great  wish 
to  put  at  his  neighbour's  service;  but  Clarice's  pride 
increased  with  her  poverty,  and  poor  Buvat  had  never  yet 
dared  to  make  the  offer.  Twenty  times  he  had  gone  to 
her  with  a  little  rouleau,  which  contained  his  whole  for- 
tune of  fifty  or  sixty  louis,  but  every  time  he  left  without 
having  dared  to  take  it  out  of  his  pocket;  but  one  day  it 
happened  that  Buvat,  descending  to  go  to  business,  having 
met  the  landlord,  who  was  making  his  quarterly  round, 
and  guessing  that  his  neighbour  might  be  embarrassed, 
even  for  so  small  a  sum ,  took  the  proprietor  into  his  own 
room,  saying  that  the  day  before  Madame  du  Rocher  had 
given  him  the  money,  that  he  might  get  both  receipts  at 
once.  The  landlord,  who  had  feared  a  delay  on  the  part 
of  his  tenant,  did  not  care  whence  the  money  came,  and 
willingly  gave  the  two  receipts. 

Buvat,  in  the  naïveté  of  his  soul,  was  tormented  by  this 
good  action  as  by  a  crime.  He  was  three  or  four  days 
without  daring  to  present  himself  to  his  neighbour,  so  that 
when  he  returned,  he  found  her  quite  affected  by  what 
she  thought  an  act  of  indifference  on  his  part.  Buvat 
found  Clarice  so  much  changed  during  these  few  days 
that  he  left  her  wiping  his  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
went  to  bed  without  having  sung,  during  the  fifteen  turns 
he  generally  took  in  his  bedroom,  — 

"  Then  let  me  go,"  etc., 
11 


162  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

which  was  a  proof  of  melancholy  preoccupation.  The 
last  days  of  winter  passed,  and  brought,  in  passing,  the 
news  that  Lerida  had  surrendered,  and  that  the  young  and 
indefatigable  general  was  about  to  besiege  Tortosa.  This 
was  the  last  blow  for  poor  Clarice.  She  understood  that 
spring  was  coming,  and  with  it  a  new  campaign,  which 
would  retain  the  duke  with  the  army.  Strength  failed 
her,  and  she  was  obliged  to  take  to  her  bed. 

The  position  of  Clarice  was  frightful.  She  did  not 
deceive  herself  as  to  her  illness.  She  felt  that  it  was 
mortal,  and  she  had  no  one  in  the  world  to  whom  she 
could  recommend  her  child.  The  poor  woman  feared 
death,  not  on  her  own  account,  but  on  her  daughter's,  who 
would  not  have  even  the  stone  of  her  mother's  tomb  to 
rest  her  head  on,  for  the  unfortunate  have  no  tomb.  Her 
husband  had  only  distant  relations,  from  whom  she  could 
not  solicit  aid;  as  to  her  own  family,  born  in  France,  where 
her  mother  died,  she  had  not  even  known  them  ;  besides, 
she  understood  that,  if  there  were  any  hope  from  that 
quarter,  there  was  no  longer  the  time  to  seek  it.  Death 
was  approaching. 

One  night  Buvat,  who  the  evening  before  had  left 
Clarice  devoured  by  fever,  heard  her  groaning  so  deeply 
that  he  jumped  from  his  bed  and  dressed  himself  to  go  and 
offer  her  help  ;  but  on  arriving  at  the  door,  he  did  not  dare 
to  enter  or  to  knock,  —  Clarice  was  sobbing  and  praying 
aloud.  At  this  moment  Bathilde  woke  and  called  her 
mother.  Clarice  drove  back  her  tears,  took  her  child  from 
the  cradle,  and,  placing  her  on  her  knees  on  her  own  bed, 
made  her  repeat  what  prayers  she  knew,  and  between  each 
of  them  Buvat  heard  her  cry  in  a  sad  voice,  — 

"Oh,  my  God!  listen  to  my  poor  child!  " 

There  was  in  this  nocturnal  scene  —  the  child  scarcely 
out  of  the  cradle,  and  a  mother  half-way  to  the  grave, 
both  addressing  the  Lord  as  their  only  support  in  the 
silence  of  night  —  something  so  deeply  sad  that  good  Buvat 
fell  on  his  knees,   and  inwardly  swore,  what  he  had  not 


JEAN   BUVAT.  163 

dared  to  offer  aloud,  that  though  Bathilde  might  be  an 
orphan,  yet  she  should  not  be  abandoned.  God  had  heard 
the  double  prayers  which  had  ascended  to  Him,  and  he 
had  granted  them. 

The  next  day  Buvat  did  what  he  had  never  dared  to  do 
before.  He  took  Bathilde  in  his  arms,  leaned  his  good- 
natured  round  face  against  the  charming  little  face  of  the 
child,  and  said  softly,  — 

"  Be  easy,  poor  little  innocent,  there  are  yet  good  people 
on  the  earth." 

The  little  girl  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed 
him.  Buvat  felt  that  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  and  as 
he  had  often  heard  that  you  must  not  cry  before  sick 
people,  for  fear  of  agitating  them,  he  drew  out  his  watch, 
and  assuming  a  gruff  voice  to  conceal  his  emotion,  — 

"Hum,  it  is  a  quarter  to  ten,  I  must  go.  Good  day, 
Madame  du  Rocher." 

On  the  staircase  he  met  the  doctor,  and  asked  him  what 
he  thought  of  the  patient.  As  he  was  a  doctor  who  came 
through  charity,  and  did  not  consider  himself  at  all  bound 
to  be  considerate  when  he  was  not  paid,  he  replied  that  in 
three  days  she  would  be  dead. 

Coming  back  at  four  o'clock,  Buvat  found  the  whole 
house  in  commotion.  The  doctor  had  said  that  they  must 
send  for  the  viaticum.  They  had  sent  for  the  curé,  and 
he  had  arrived,  and,  preceded  by  the  sacristan  and  his 
little  bell,  he  had  without  any  preparation  entered  the 
sick-room.  Clarice  received  it  with  her  hands  joined,  and 
her  eyes  turned  towards  heaven;  but  the  impression  pro- 
duced on  her  was  not  the  less  terrible.  Buvat  heard 
singing,  and  thought  what  must  have  happened.  He  went 
up  directly,  and  found  the  landing  and  the  door  of  the  sick- 
room surrounded  by  all  the  gossips  of  the  neighbourhood, 
who  had,  as  was  the  custom  at  that  time,  followed  the 
holy  sacrament.  Round  the  bed  where  the  dying  woman 
was  extended,  already  so  pale  and  motionless  that  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  two  great  tears  tliat  ran  down  her  cheeks 


164  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

she  might  have  been  taken  for  a  marble  statue  lying  on  a 
tomb,  the  priests  were  singing  the  prayers  for  tlie  dying, 
and  in  a  corner  of  the  room  the  little  Bathilde,  whom  they 
had  separated  from  her  mother  that  she  might  not  distract 
her  attention  during  her  last  act  of  religion,  was  seated  on 
the  ground,  not  daring  to  cry,  friglitened  at  seeing  so 
many  people  she  did  not  know,  and  hearing  so  much  she 
did  not  understand. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  Buvat,  the  child  ran  to  him  as  the 
only  person  she  knew  in  this  grave  assembly.  Buvat  took 
her  in  his  arms,  and  knelt  with  her  near  the  bed  of  the 
dying  woman.  At  this  moment  Clarice  lowered  her  eyes 
from  the  heavens  towards  the  earth.  Without  doubt  she 
had  been  addressing  a  prayer  to  Pleaven  to  send  a  protector 
to  her  daughter.  She  saw  Bathilde  in  the  arms  of  the 
only  friend  she  had  in  the  world.  With  the  penetrating 
glance  of  the  dying  she  read  this  pure  and  devoted  heart, 
and  saw  what  he  had  not  dared  to  tell  her;  and  as  she  sat 
up  in  bed  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  uttering  a  cry  of 
gratitude  and  joy  such  as  the  angels  only  can  understand; 
and,  as  if  she  had  exhausted  her  remaining  strength  in  this 
maternal  outburst,  she  sank  back  fainting  on  the  bed. 

The  religious  ceremony  was  finished.  The  priests  re- 
tired first,  then  the  pious  followed;  the  indifferent  and 
curious  remained  till  the  last.  Among  this  number  were 
several  women.  Buvat  asked  if  there  was  none  amongst 
them  who  knew  a  good  sick  nurse.  One  of  them  presented 
berself  directly,  declared,  in  the  midst  of  a  chorus  of  her 
companions,  that  she  had  all  the  necessary  virtues  for  this 
honourable  situation,  but  that,  just  on  account  of  these 
good  qualities,  she  was  accustomed  to  be  paid  a  week  in 
advance,  as  she  was  much  sought  after  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Buvat  asked  the  price  of  this  week.  She  replied 
that  to  any  other  it  would  be  sixteen  livres,  but  as  the 
poor  lady  did  not  seem  rich,  she  would  be  contented  with 
twelve.  Buvat,  who  had  just  received  his  month's  pay, 
took  two  crowns  from  his  pocket  and   gave  them  to   her 


JEAN    BUVAT.  165 

without  bargaining.  He  would  have  given  double  if  she 
had  asked  it. 

Clarice  was  still  fainting.  The  nurse  entered  on  her 
duty  by  giving  her  some  vinegar  instead  of  salts.  Buvat 
retired.  As  to  Bathilde,  she  had  been  told  that  her 
mother  was  asleep.  The  poor  child  did  not  know  the 
difference  between  sleep  and  death,  and  returned  to  her 
corner  to  play  with  her  doll. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Bnvat  returned  to  ask  news  of 
Clarice.  She  had  recovered  from  her  fainting,  but  though 
her  eyes  were  open  she  did  not  speak.  However,  she 
recognised  him,  for  as  soon  as  he  entered  she  joined  her 
hands  as  if  to  pray,  and  then  she  appeared  to  seek  for 
something  under  her  bolster.  The  nurse  shook  her  head, 
and  approaching  the  patient,  — 

"Your  pillow  is  very  well,"  said  she,  "you  must  not 
disarrange  it."  Then,  turning  to  Buvat,  "Ah!  these  sick 
peoi)le  !  "  added  she,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "they  are 
always  fancying  that  there  is  something  making  them 
uncomfortable:  it  is  death,  only  they  do  not  know  it." 

Clarice  sighed  deeply,  but  remained  motionless.  The 
nurse  approached  her,  and  passed  over  her  lips  the  feather 
of  a  quill  dipped  in  a  cordial  of  her  own  invention,  which 
she  had  just  been  to  fetch  at  the  chemist's.  Buvat  could 
not  support  this  spectacle;  he  recommended  the  mother 
and  child  to  the  care  of  the  nurse,  and  left. 

The  next  day  Clarice  was  still  worse,  for  though  her 
e)'es  were  open,  she  did  not  seem  to  recognise  any  one  but 
her  daughter,  who  was  lying  near  her  on  the  bed,  and 
whose  little  hand  she  held.  On  her  part,  the  child,  as  if 
she  felt  that  this  was  the  last  maternal  embrace,  remained 
quiet  and  silent.  On  seeing  her  kind  friend  she  only  said, 
"Mamma  sleeps." 

It  appeared  to  Buvat  that  Clarice  moved  as  if  she  heard 
and  recognised  her  child's  voice,  but  it  might  have  been 
only  a  nervous  trembling.  He  asked  the  nurse  if  the 
sick  woman  had  wanted  anything.     She  shook  her  head, 


166  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

saying,  "What  would  be  the  use?  It  wouhl  be  money 
thrown  away.  These  apothecaries  make  quite  enough 
already."  Buvat  would  have  liked  to  stay  with  Clarice, 
for  he  saw  that  she  had  not  long  to  live,  but  he  never 
would  have  thought  of  absenting  himself  for  a  day  from 
business  unless  he  were  dying  himself.  He  arrived  there, 
then,  as  usual,  but  so  sad  and  melancholy  that  the  king 
did  not  gain  much  by  his  presence.  They  remarked  with 
astonishment  that  that  day  Buvat  did  not  wait  till  four 
o'clock  had  struck  to  take  off  the  false  blue  sleeves  which 
he  wore  to  protect  his  coat,  but  that  at  the  first  stroke  of 
the  clock  he  got  up,  took  his  hat,  and  went  out.  The 
supernumerary,  Avho  had  already  asked  for  his  place, 
watched  him  as  he  went,  then,  when  he  had  closed  the 
door,  "  Well  !  "  said  he,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the 
chief,  "there  is  one  who  takes  it  easy." 

Buvat's  presentiments  were  confirmed.  On  arriving  at 
the  house  he  asked  the  porter's  wife  how  Clarice  was. 

"Ah,  God  be  thanked!"  replied  she,  "the  poor  woman 
is  happy;  she  suffers  no  more." 

"She  is  dead!  "  cried  Buvat,  with  that  shudder  always 
produced  by  this  terrible  word. 

"About  three-quarters  of  an  hour  ago,"  replied  she; 
and  she  went  on  darning  her  stocking,  and  singing  a  merry 
song  which  she  had  interrupted  to  reply  to  Buvat. 

Buvat  ascended  the  steps  of  the  staircase  one  by  one, 
stopping  frequently  to  wipe  his  forehead;  then,  on  arriv- 
ing on  the  landing,  where  was  his  room  and  that  of 
Clarice,  he  was  obliged  to  lean  his  head  against  the  wall, 
for  he  felt  his  legs  fail  him.  He  stood  silent  and  hesitat- 
ing, when  he  thought  he  heard  Bathilde's  voice  crying. 
He  remembered  the  poor  child,  and  this  gave  him  courage. 
At  the  door,  however,  he  stopped  again;  then  he  heard 
the  groans  of  the  little  girl  more  distinctly. 

"  Mamma  !  "  cried  the  child,  in  a  little  voice  broken'  by 
sobs,  "  will  you  not  wake  ?  Mamma,  why  are  you  so 
cold?"     Then,  running  to  the  door,  and  striking  with  her 


JEAN    RU  VAT.  167 

hand,  "Come,  my  kind  friend,  come,"  said  she;  "I  am 
alone,  and  I  am  afraid." 

Buvat  was  astonished  that  they  had  not  removed  the 
child  from  her  mother's  room;  and  the  profound  pity 
which  the  poor  little  creature  inspired  made  him  forget 
the  painful  feeling  which  had  stopped  him  for  a  moment. 
He  then  raised  his  hand  to  open  the  door.  The  door  was 
locked.  At  this  moment  he  heard  tlie  porter's  wife  call- 
ing him.  He  ran  to  the  stairs,  and  asked  her  where  tlie 
key  was. 

"Ah!  "  replied  she,  "how  stupid  I  am;  I  forgot  to  give 
it  you  as  you  passed." 

Buvat  ran  down  as  quickly  as  he  could. 

"And  why  is  the  key  here?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  landlord  placed  it  here  after  he  had  taken  away 
the  furniture,"  answered  she. 

"What  !  taken  away  the  furniture?"  cried  Buvat. 

"Of  course  he  has  taken  away  the  furniture.  Your 
neighbour  was  not  rich,  Monsieur  Buvat,  and  no  doubt 
she  owes  money  on  all  sides.  Ah  !  the  landlord  will  not 
stand  tricks;  the  rent  first.  That  is  but  fair.  Besides, 
she  does  not  want  furniture  any  more,  poor  dear  !  " 

"But  the  nurse,  where  is  she?" 

"When  she  saw  that  her  patient  was  dead,  she  went 
away.  Her  business  was  finished,  but  she  will  come  back 
to  shroud  her  for  a  crown,  if  you  like.  It  is  generally  the 
portress  who  does  this:  but  I  cannot;  I  am  too  sensitive." 

Buvat  understood,  shuddering  at  all  that  had  passed. 
He  went  up  quickly.  His  hand  shook  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  find  the  lock;  but  at  length  the  key  turned,  and 
the  door  opened.  Clarice  was  extended  on  the  ground  on 
the  mattress  out  of  her  bed,  in  the  middle  of  the  dis- 
mantled room.  An  old  sheet  was  thrown  over  her,  and 
ought  to  have  hidden  her  entirely,  but  little  Bathilde  had 
moved  it  to  seek  for  her  mother's  face,  which  she  was 
kissing  when  he  entered. 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  cried   she,   "wake   my   mamma,   who 


168  THE  chp:valikii  d'haumental. 

sleeps  still.  Wake  her,  I  beg!  "  And  the  child  ran  to 
liuvat,  who  was  watching  from  the  door  this  pitiable 
spectacle.     Buvat  took  Bathilde  back  to  tlie  corpse. 

"Kiss  your  mother  for  the  last  time,  my  poor  child," 
said  lie. 

The  child  obeyed. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "let  her  sleep.  One  day  God  will 
wake  her;"  and  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  carried 
her  away.  The  child  made  no  resistance.  She  seemed  to 
understand  her  weakness  and  her  isolation. 

He  put  her  in  his  own  bed,  for  they  had  carried  away 
even  the  child's  cot;  and  when  she  was  asleep,  he  went  out 
to  give  information  of  the  death  to  the  commissary  of  the 
quarter,  and  to  make  arrangements  for  the  funeral. 

When  he  returned,  the  portress  gave  him  a  paper,  which 
the  nurse  had  found  in  Clarice's  hand.  Buvat  opened  and 
recognised  the  letter  from  the  Due  d'Orleans.  This  was 
the  sole  inheritance  which  the  poor  mother  had  left  to  her 
daughter. 


BATHILDE.  169 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

.    BATHILDE. 

In  going  to  make  his  declaration  to  the  commissary  of 
the  quarter  and  his  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  Buvat 
had  not  forgotten  to  look  for  a  woman  who  could  take  care 
of  little  Bathilde,  an  office  which  he  could  not  undertake 
himself;  first,  because  he  was  entirely  ignorant  of  its  du- 
ties; and,  secondly,  because  it  would  be  impossible  to 
leave  the  child  alone  during  the  six  hours  he  spent  daily 
at  the  office.  Fortunately,  he  knew  the  very  person  he 
wanted;  a  woman  of  from  thirty-five  to  tiàrty-eight  years 
of  age,  who  had  been  in  IVIadame  Buvat's  service,  and 
whose  good  qualities  he  had  duly  appreciated.  It  was 
arranged  with  Nanette  —  for  this  was  the  good  woman's 
name  —  that  she  should  live  in  the  house,  do  the  cooking, 
take  care  of  little  Bathilde,  and  have  fifty  livres  a  year 
wages,  and  her  board.  This  new  arrangement  must  greatly 
change  all  Buvat's  habits,  by  obliging  him  to  have  a  house- 
keeper, whereas  he  had  always  lived  as  a  bachelor,  and 
taken  his  meals  at  an  eating-house.  He  could  no  longer 
keep  his  attic,  which  was  now  too  small  for  him,  and  next 
morning  he  went  in  search  of  a  new  lodging.  He  found 
one,  Rue  Pagevin,  as  he  wished  to  be  near  the  royal 
library,  that  he  might  not  have  too  far  to  walk  in  wet 
weather.  This  lodging  contained  two  rooms,  a  closet, 
and  a  kitchen.  He  took  it  on  the  spot,  and  went  to  buy 
the  necessary  furniture  for  Bathilde  and  Nanette's  rooms; 
and  the  same  evening,  after  their  return  from  business, 
they  moved  to  their  new  lodgings. 

The  next  day,  which  was  Sunday,  Clarice  was  buried; 
so  that  Buvat  had  no  need  to  ask  for  a  day's  leave  even 
for  this. 


170  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

For  the  first  week  or  two,  Bathilde  asked  constantly  for 
her  mamma;  but  her  friend  Buvat  had  brought  her  a  great 
many  pretty  phiythings  to  console  her,  so  that  she  soon 
began  to  ask  for  her  less  frequently;  and  as  she  had  been 
told  she  had  gone  to  join  her  father,  she  at  length  only 
asked  occasionally  when  they  would  both  come  back. 

Buvat  had  put  Bathilde  in  the  best  room;  he  kept  the 
other  for  himself,  and  put  Nanette  in  the  little  closet. 

This  Nanette  was  a  good  woman,  who  cooked  passably, 
and  knitted  and  netted  splendidly.  In  spite  of  these 
divers  talents,  Buvat  understood  that  he  and  Nanette 
would  not  suffice  for  the  education  of  a  young  girl;  and 
that  though  she  might  write  magnificently,  know  her  five 
rules,  and  be  able  to  sew  and  net,  she  would  still  know 
only  half  of  what  she  should.  Buvat  had  looked  the 
obligation  he  had  undertaken  full  in  the  face.  His  was 
one  of  those  happy  organisations  which  think  with  the 
heart,  and  he  had  understood  that,  though  she  had  become 
his  ward,  Bathilde  remained  the  child  of  Albert  and 
Clarice.  He  resolved,  then,  to  give  her  an  education  con- 
formable, not  to  her  present  situation,  but  to  the  name  she 
bore. 

In  arriving  at  this  resolution,  Buvat  had  reasoned,  very 
simply,  that  he  owed  his  place  to  Albert,  and  consequently 
the  income  of  that  place  belonged  to  Bathilde.  This  is 
how  he  divided  his  nine  hundred  livres  a  year:  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  for  music,  drawing,  and  dancing  masters; 
four  hundred  and  fifty  for  Bath  il  de' s  dowry. 

Now,  supposing  that  Bathilde,  who  was  four  years  old, 
should  marry  at  eighteen,  the  interest  and  the  capital 
together  would  amount  to  something  like  nine  or  ten  thou- 
sand francs.  This  was  not  much,  he  knew,  and  was  much 
troubled  by  that  knowledge;  but  it  was  in  vain  to  think, 
he  could  not  make  it  more. 

To  defray  the  expense  of  their  living,  lodgings,  and 
clothing  for  himself  and  Bathilde,  he  would  again  begin 
to  give  writing  lessons  and  make  copies.     For  this  purpose 


BATIIILDE.  171 

he  got  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  went  to  bed 
at  ten  at  night.  This  would  be  all  profit;  for,  thanks  to 
this  new  arrangement,  he  would  lengthen  his  life  by  two 
or  three  hours  daily.  For  some  time  these  good  resolu- 
tions prospered;  neither  lessons  nor  copies  were  wanting-, 
and,  as  two  years  passed  before  Bathilde  had  finished  the 
early  education  he  himself  undertook  to  give  her,  he  was 
able  to  add  nine  hundred  francs  to  her  little  treasure.  At 
six  years  old  Bathilde  had  what  the  daughters  of  the 
richest  and  noblest  houses  seldom  have,  —  masters  for 
music,  drawing,  and  dancing.  Making  sacrifices  for  this 
charming  child  was  entirely  pleasure;  for  she  appeared  to 
have  received  from  God  one  of  those  happy  organisations 
whose  aptitude  makes  us  believe  in  a  former  world,  for 
they  appear  not  so  much  to  be  learning  a  new  thing  as  to 
be  remembering  one  formerly  known.  As  to  her  beauty, 
which  had  given  such  early  promise,  it  had  amply  ful- 
filled it. 

Buvat  was  happy  the  whole  week,  whilst  after  each 
lesson  he  received  the  compliments  of  the  master,  and 
very  proud  on  Sundays,  when,  having  put  on  his  salmon- 
coloured  coat,  his  black  velvet  breeches,  and  chiné  stock- 
ings, he  took  Bathilde  by  the  hand  and  went  for  his 
weekly  walk. 

It  was  generally  towards  the  Chemin  des  Porcherons 
that  he  directed  his  steps.  This  was  a  rendezvous  for 
bowls,  and  Buvat  had  formerly  been  a  great  lover  of  this 
game.  In  ceasing  to  be  an  actor,  he  had  become  a  judge. 
Whenever  a  dispute  arose,  it  was  referred  to  him;  and  his 
eye  was  so  correct,  that  he  could  tell  at  the  first  glance, 
and  without  fail,  which  ball  was  nearest  the  mark.  From 
his  judgments  there  was  no  appeal,  and  they  were  received 
with  neither  more  nor  less  respect  than  those  of  St.  Louis 
at  Vincennes.  But  it  must  be  said  to  his  credit  that  his 
predilection  for  this  walk  was  not  entirely  egotistical  :  it 
also  led  to  the  marsh  of  the  Grange  Batelière,  whose  black 
and  gloomy  waters  attracted  a  great  many  of  those  dragon- 


172  THE   CHEVALIKIl   l/ll  VKxMENTAL. 

flies  with  the  gauzy  wings  and  golden  bodies  wliich  cliil 
dren  delight  to  pursue.  One  of  Bathilde's  greatest  amuse- 
ments was  to  run,  with  her  green  net  in  her  hand,  her 
beautiful  fair  curls  floating  in  the  wind,  after  the  butter- 
flies and  dragon-flies.  The  result  of  this  was  that  lîathilde 
had  many  accidents  to  her  white  frock,  but,  provided  she 
was  amused,  Buvat  took  very  philosophically  a  spot  or  a 
tear.  Tliis  was  Nanette's  affair.  The  good  woman  scolded 
well  on  their  return,  but  Buvat  closed  her  mouth  by  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  and  saying,  "lîah!  one  can't  put  old 
heads  on  young  shoulders." 

And,  as  Nanette  had  a  great  respect  for  proverbs,  which 
she  occasionally  used  herself,  she  generally  gave  way  to 
the  moral  of  this  one.  It  happened  also  sometimes,  but 
this  was  only  on  fete  days,  that  Buvat  complied  with 
Bathilde's  request  to  take  her  to  Montmartre  to  see  the 
windmills.  Then  they  set  out  earlier.  Nanette  took 
dinner  with  them,  which  was  destined  to  be  eaten  on  the 
esplanade  of  the  abbey.  They  did  not  get  home  till  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  but  from  the  Cross  des  Porcherons 
Bathilde  slept  in  Buvat's  arms. 

Things  went  on  thus  till  the  year  1712,  at  which  time 
the  great  king  found  himself  so  embarrassed  in  his  affairs 
that  the  only  thing  left  for  him  to  do  was  to  leave  off 
paying  his  employees.  Buvat  was  warned  of  this  admin- 
istrative measure  by  the  cashier,  who  announced  to  him 
one  fine  morning,  when  he  presented  himself  to  receive  his 
month's  paj^,  that  there  was  no  mone}'.  Buvat  looked  at 
the  man  with  an  astonished  air:  it  had  never  entered  into 
his  head  that  the  king  could  be  in  want  of  money.  He 
took  no  further  notice  of  this  answer,  convinced  that  some 
accident  only  had  interrupted  the  payment,  and  went  back 
to  his  oftice  singing  his  favourite 

"Then  let  me  go,"  etc. 

"Pardon,"  said  the  supernumerary,  who  after  waiting 
for  seven  years  had  at  last  been  named  employee  the  first 


BATHILDE.  173 

of  tlie  preceding  montli,  "you  must  be  very  ligiit-hearted 
to  sing  Wiien  we  are  no  longer  paid." 

"  What!  "  cried  Buvat;  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  that  I  suppose  you  have  not  gone  to  be  paid,'' 

"Yes,  I  have  just  come  from  there." 

"Did  they  pay  you?" 

"No;  they  said  there  was  no  money." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"Oh!  I  think,"  said  Buvat,  "that  they  will  pay  the 
two  months  together." 

"  Oh  yes!  two  months  together  !  Do  you  hear,  Ducou- 
dray?  He  thinks  they  will  pay  the  two  months  together. 
He  is  a  simple  fellow,  this  Buvat." 

"We  shall  see  next  month,"  replied  the  second  clerk. 

"Yes,"  replied  Buvat,  to  whom  this  remark  appeared 
very  just,  "  we  shall  see  next  month." 

"And  if  they  do  not  pay  you  next  month,  nor  the 
following  months,  what  shall  you  do,  Buvat?" 

"What  shall  I  do!"  said  Buvat,  astonished  that  there 
could  be  a  doubt  as  to  his  resolution,  "I  should  come  just 
the  same." 

What!  if  you  were  not  paid  you  would  come  still?  " 

"^lonsieur,"  said  Buvat,  "for  ten  years  the  king  has 
paid  me  down  on  the  nail;  surely  after  that  he  has  a  right 
to  ask  for  a  little  credit  if  he  is  embarrassed." 

"  Vile  flatterer,"  said  the  clerk. 

The  month  passed  and  pay-day  came  again.  Buvat  pre- 
sented himself  with  the  most  perfect  confidence  that  they 
would  pay  his  arrears;  but  to  his  astonishment  they  told 
him  that  there  was  still  no  money.  Buvat  asked  when 
there  would  be  any.  The  cashier  replied  that  he  should 
like  to  know.  Buvat  was  quite  confused,  and  went  away; 
but  this  time  without  singing.  The  same  day  the  clerk 
resigned.  Now,  as  it  was  difficult  to  replace  a  clerk  who 
resigned  because  he  was  not  paid,  and  whose  work  must 
be  done  all  the  same,  the  chief  told  Buvat,  besides  his 
own  work,  to  do  that  of  the  missing  clerk.     Buvat  under- 


174  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

took  it  without  murmur;  and  as  his  ordinary  work  had 
left  him  some  time  free,  at  the  end  of  the  month  the  busi- 
ness was  done. 

They  did  not  pay  the  third  month  any  more  than  the 
two  others,  —  it  was  a  real  bankruptcy.  But  as  has  been 
seen,  Buvat  never  bargained  with  his  duties.  What  he 
had  promised  on  the  first  impulse  he  did  on  reflection;  but 
he  was  forced  to  attack  his  treasure,  which  consisted  of 
two  years'  pay.  Meanwhile  Bathilde  grew.  She  was 
now  a  young  girl  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  old,  whose 
beauty  became  every  day  more  remarkable,  and  who  began 
to  understand  all  the  difficulties  of  her  position.  For  some 
time  the  walks  in  the  Porcheron  and  the  expedition  to 
Montmartre  had  been  given  up,  under  pretext  that  she 
preferred  remaining  at  home  to  draw  or  play  on  the 
harpsichord. 

Buvat  did  not  understand  these  sedentary  tastes  which 
Bathilde  had  acquired  so  suddenly.  And  as,  after  having 
tried  two  or  three  times  to  go  out  without  her,  he  found 
that  it  was  not  the  walk  itself  he  cared  for,  he  resolved, 
as  he  must  have  air  upon  a  Sunday,  to  look  for  a  lodging 
with  a  garden.  But  lodgings  with  gardens  were  too  dear 
for  his  finances,  and  having  seen  the  lodging  in  the  Rue 
du  Temps  Perdu,  he  had  the  bright  idea  of  replacing  the 
garden  by  a  terrace.  He  came  back  to  tell  Bathilde  what 
he  had  seen,  telling  her  that  the  only  inconvenience  in 
this  lodging  would  be  that  their  rooms  must  be  separated, 
and  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  sleep  on  the  fourth  floor 
with  Nanette,  and  he  on  the  fifth.  This  was  rather  a 
recommendation  to  Bathilde.  For  some  time  she  had 
begun  to  feel  it  inconvenient  that  her  room  should  be  only 
separated  by  a  door  from  that  of  a  man  still  young,  and 
who  was  neither  her  father  nor  her  husband.  She  there- 
fore assured  Buvat  that  the  lodging  must  suit  him  admi- 
rably, and  advised  him  to  secure  it  at  once.  Buvat  was 
delighted,  and  the  same  day  gave  notice  to  quit  his  old 
lodgings,  and  at  the  half-term  he  moved. 


BATHILDE.  175 

Bathilde  was  right;  for  since  her  black  mantle  sketched 
her  beautiful  shoulders,  since  her  mittens  showed  the 
prettiest  fingers  in  the  world,  since  of  the  Bathilde  of 
former  times  there  was  nothing  left  but  her  childish  feet, 
every  one  began  to  remark  that  Euvat  was  young,  —  that 
the  tutor  and  the  pupil  were  living  under  the  same  roof. 
In  fact,  the  gossips  who,  when  Bathilde  was  six  years  old, 
worshipped  Buvat's  footsteps,  now  began  to  cry  out  about 
his  criminality  because  she  was  fifteen.  Poor  Buvat!  If 
ever  echo  was  innocent  and  pure,  it  was  that  of  the  room 
which  adjoined  Bathilde's,  and  which  for  ten  years  had 
sheltered  his  good  round  head,  into  which  a  bad  thought 
had  never  entered,  even  in  dreams. 

But  on  arriving  at  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu  it  was  still 
worse.  In  the  Rue  Pagevin,  where  his  admirable  conduct 
to  the  child  was  known,  this  remembrance  had  protected 
him  against  calumny;  but  in  their  new  quarter  this  was 
quite  unknown,  and  their  inscribing  themselves  under  two 
different  names  prevented  any  idea  of  very  near  relation- 
ship. Some  supposed  that  they  saw  in  Bathilde  the  result 
of  an  old  passion  which  the  Church  had  forgotten  to 
consecrate,  but  this  idea  fell  at  the  first  examination. 
Bathilde  was  tall  and  slender,  Buvat  short  and  fat; 
Bathilde  had  brilliant  black  eyes,  Buvat's  were  blue  and 
expressionless;  Bathilde's  face  was  white  and  smooth, 
Buvat's  face  was  bright  red.  In  fact,  Bathilde's  whole 
person  breathed  elegance  and  distinction,  while  poor  Buvat 
was  the  type  of  vulgar  good  nature.  The  result  of  this 
was,  that  the  women  began  to  look  at  Bathilde  with  con- 
tempt, and  that  men  called  Buvat  a  lucky  fellow.  Tho 
previsions  of  the  clerk  who  resigned  were  realised.  For 
eighteen  months  Buvat  had  not  touched  a  sou  of  his  pay, 
and  yet  had  not  relaxed  for  a  moment  in  his  punctu- 
ality. Moreover,  he  was  haunted  with  a  fear  that  the 
ministry  would  turn  away  a  third  of  the  clerks  for  the 
sake  of  economy.  Buvat  would  have  looked  on  the  loss  of 
his  place  as  a  great  misfortune,  although  it  took  him  six 


176  TUE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

hours  a  day  which  he  might  have  employed  in  a  lucrative 
manner.  They  took  care  not  to  dismiss  a  man  who  worked 
the  better  the  less  they  paid  him. 

Bathilde  began  to  think  that  there  was  something  pass- 
ing of  which  she  was  ignorant.  She  thought  it  would  be 
of  no  use  to  ask  Buvat,  and,  addressing  herself  to  Nanette, 
who  after  a  short  time  avowed  all  to  her,  Bathilde  learnt 
for  the  first  time  all  she  owed  to  Buvat;  and  that  to  pay 
her  masters  and  to  amass  her  dowry  Buvat  worked  from 
morning  till  night;  and  that  in  spite  of  this,  as  his  salary 
was  not  paid,  he  would  be  obliged  sooner  or  later  to  tell 
Bathilde  that  they  must  retrench  all  expenses  that  were 
not  absolutely  necessary. 

Bathilde's  first  impulse  on  learning  this  devotion  was 
to  fall  at  Buvat's  feet  and  express  her  gratitude;  but  she 
soon  understood  that,  to  arrive  at  her  desired  end,  she 
must  feign  ignorance. 

The  next  day  Bathilde  told  Buvat,  laughing,  that  it  was 
throwing  away  money  to  keep  her  masters  any  longer,  for 
she  knew  as  much  as  they  did;  and  as,  in  Buvat's  eyes, 
Bathilde's  drawings  were  the  most  beautiful  things  in  th& 
world,  and  as  when  she  sang  he  was  in  the  seventh 
heaven,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  believing  her,  particularly 
as  her  masters,  with  unusual  candour,  avowed  that  their 
pupil  knew  enough  to  study  alone;  but  Bathilde  had  a 
purifying  influence  on  all  who  approached  her.  Bathilde 
was  not  satisfied  with  saving  expense,  but  also  wished  to 
increase  his  gains.  Although  she  had  made  equal  progress 
in  music  and  drawing,  she  understood  that  drawing  was  her 
only  resource,  and  that  music  could  be  nothing  but  a  re- 
laxation. She  reserved  all  her  attention  for  drawing;  and 
as  she  was  really  very  talented,  she  soon  made  charming 
sketches.  At  last  one  day  she  wished  to  know  what  they 
were  worth;  and  she  asked  Buvat,  in  going  to  his  office, 
to  show  them  to  the  person  from  whom  she  bought  her 
paper  and  crayons,  and  who  lived  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  de  Cléry.     She  gave  him  two  children's  heads  which 


BATHILDE.  177 

she  had  drawn  from  fancy,  to  ask  their  value.  Buvat 
undertook  the  commission  without  suspecting  any  trick, 
and  executed  it  with  his  ordinary  naivete.  The  dealer, 
accustomed  to  such  propositions,  turned  them  round  and 
round  with  a  disdainful  air,  and,  criticising  them  severely, 
said  that  he  could  only  offer  fifteen  francs  each  for  them. 
Buvat  was  hurt  not  by  the  price  offered,  but  by  the  dis- 
respectful manner  in  which  the  shopkeeper  had  spoken  of 
Bathilde's  talent.  He  drew  them  quickly  out  of  the 
dealer's  hands,  saying  that  he  thanked  him. 

The  man,  thinking  that  Buvat  thought  the  price  too 
small,  said  that,  for  friendship's  sake,  he  would  go  as 
high  as  forty  francs  for  the  two;  but  Buvat,  offended  at 
the  slight  offered  to  the  genius  of  his  ward,  answered 
dryly  that  the  drawings  which  he  had  shown  him  were  not 
for  sale,  and  that  he  had  only  asked  their  value  through 
curiosity.  Every  one  knows  that  from  the  moment  draw- 
ings are  not  for  sale  they  increase  singularly  in  value,  and 
the  dealer  at  length  offered  fifty  francs;  but  Buvat,  little 
tempted  by  this  proposition,  by  which  he  did  not  even 
dream  of  profiting,  took  the  drawings  and  left  the  shop 
with  all  the  dignity  of  wounded  pride.  When  he  returned, 
the  dealer  was  standing  as  if  by  chance,  at  his  door. 
Buvat,  seeing  him,  kept  at  a  distance;  but  the  shopkeeper 
came  to  him,  and,  putting  his  two  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
asked  him  if  he  would  not  let  him  have  the  two  draw- 
ings for  the  price  he  had  named.  Buvat  replied  a  second 
time,  sharply,  that  they  were  not  for  sale.  "That  is  a 
pity,"  replied  the  dealer,  "for  I  would  have  given  eighty 
francs."  And  he  returned  to  his  door  with  an  indiffer- 
ent air,  but  watching  Buvat  as  he  did  so.  Buvat,  how- 
ever, went  on  with  a  pride  that  was  almost  grotesque, 
and,  without  turning  once,  went  straight  home.  Bathilde 
heard  him,  as  he  came  up  the  staircase,  striking  his 
cane  against  the  balusters,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
doing.  She  ran  out  to  meet  him,  for  she  was  very  anx- 
ious to  hear  the  result  of  the   negotiation,  and,  with  the 

12 


178  THE    CIIKVALIEU    D'HAKMENTAL. 

remains  of  her  childish  habits,  throwing  lier  arms  round 
his  neck, — 

"Well,  my  friend,"  asked  she,  "what  did  IMonsieur 
Papillon  say?" 

"Monsieur  Papillon,"  replied  Buvat,  wijjing  his  fore- 
head, "is  an  impertinent  rascal." 

Poor  Bath  il  de  turned  pale. 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  she. 

"Yes;  an  impertinent  rascal,  who,  instead  of  admiring 
your  drawings,  has  dared  to  criticise  them." 

"Oh!  if  that  is  all,"  said  Bathilde,  laughing,  "he  is 
right.  Remember  that  I  am  a  scholar.  But  did  he  offer 
any  price?" 

"Yes,"  said  Buvat;  "he  had  impertinence  enough  for 
that." 

"  What  price?  "  asked  Bathilde,  trembling. 

"He  offered  eighty  francs." 

"Eighty  francs!"  cried  Bathilde.  "Oh!  you  must  be 
mistaken." 

"I  tell  you  he  offered  eighty  francs  for  the  two,"  replied 
Buvat,  laying  a  stress  on  each  syllable. 

"But  it  is  four  times  as  much  as  they  are  worth,"  said 
the  young  girl,  clapping  her  hands  for  joy. 

"It  is  possible,  though  I  do  not  think  so;  but  it  is  none 
the  less  true  that  Monsieur  Papillon  is  an  impertinent 
rascal  !  " 

This  was  not  Bathilde's  opinion;  but  she  changed  the 
conversation,  saying  that  dinner  was  ready, —  an  announce- 
ment which  generally  gave  a  new  course  to  Buvat's  ideas. 

Buvat  gave  back  the  drawings  to  Bathilde  without 
further  observation,  and  entered  the  little  sitting-room, 
singing  the  inevitable,  "Then  let  me  go,"  etc. 

He  dined  with  as  good  an  appetite  as  if  there  had  been 
no  Monsieur  Papillon  in  the  world.  The  same  evening, 
while  Buvat  was  making  copies,  Bathilde  gave  the  draw- 
ings to  Nanette,  telling  her  to  take  them  to  Monsieur 
Papillon,  and  ask  for  the  eighty  francs  he  had  offered  to 


BATHILDK.  179 

Buvat.  Nanette  obeyed,  and  Batliilde  awaited  her  return 
with  great  anxiety,  for  she  still  believed  there  must  be 
some  mistake  as  to  the  price.  Ten  minutes  afterwards  she 
was  quite  assured,  for  the  good  woman  entered  with  the 
money.  Bathilde  looked  at  it  for  an  instant  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  then,  kneeling  before  the  crucifix  at  the  foot  of 
her.  bed,  she  offered  up  a  thanksgiving  that  she  was 
enabled  to  return  to  Buvat  a  part  of  what  he  had  done  for 
her. 

The  next  day  Buvat,  in  returning  from  the  office,  passed 
before  Fapillon's  door,  but  his  astonishment  was  great 
when,  through  the  windows  of  the  shop,  he  saw  the  draw- 
ings.    The  door  opened,  and  Papillon  appeared. 

"So,"  said  he>  "you  thought  better  of  it,  and  made  up 
your  mind  to  part  with  the  two  drawings  which  were  not 
for  sale?  Ah!  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  cunning, 
neighbour.  But,  however,  tell  Mademoiselle  Bathilde, 
that,  as  she  is  a  good  girl,  out  of  consideration  for  her,  if 
she  will  do  two  such  drawings  every  month,  and  promise 
not  to  drav/  for  any  one  else  for  a  year,  I  will  take  them 
at  the  same  price." 

Buvat  was  astonished;  he  grumbled  out  an  answer  which 
the  man  could  not  hear  and  went  lionip.  Pie  went  up  stain 
and  opened  the  door  without  Bathilde  having  heard  him, 
She  was  drawing;  she  had  already  begun  another  head, 
and  perceiving  her  good  friend  standing  at  the  door  with 
a  troubled  air,  she  put  down  her  paper  and  pencils,  and 
ran  to  him,  asking  Avhat  was  the  matter.  Buvat  wiped 
away  two  great  tears. 

"So,"  said  he,  "the  child  of  my  benefactors,  of  Clarice 
Gray  and  Albert  du  Kocher,  is  working  for  her  bread!  " 

"Father,"  replied  Bathilde,  half  crying,  half  laughing; 
"I  am  not  working,  I  am  amusing  myself." 

The  word  "father"  was  substituted  on  great  occasions 
for  "kind  friend,"  and  ordinarily  had  the  eiïect  of  calming 
his  greatest  troubles,  but  t.iis  time  it  failed. 

"I  am  neither  your  father,  nor  your  good  friend/'  mur- 


180  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

mured  he,  "but  simply  poor  Buvat,  whom  the  king  pays 
no  longer,  and  who  does  not  gain  enough  by  his  writing  to 
continue  to  give  you  the  education  you  ought  to  have." 

"Oh!  you  want  to  make  me  die  with  grief,"  cried 
Batliilde,  bursting  into  tears,  so  plainly  was  Buvat's  dis- 
tress painted   on  his  countenance. 

"I  kill  you  with  grief,  my  child?"  said  Buvat,  wfth 
an  accent  of  profound  tenderness.  "What  have  1  done? 
What  have  I  said?  You  must  not  cry.  It  wanted  nothing 
but  that  to  make  me  miserable." 

"But,"  said  Bathilde,  "I  shall  always  cry  if  you  do  not 
let  me  do  what  I  like." 

This  threat  of  Bathilde's,  puerile  as  it  was,  made  Buvat 
tremble;  for  since  the  day  when  the  child  wept  for  her 
mother  not  a  tear  had  fallen  from  her  eyes. 

"Well,"  said  Buvat,  "do  as  you  like,  but  promise  me 
that  when  the  king  pays  my  arrears  —  " 

"  Well,  well,"  cried  Bathilde,  interrupting  him,  "  we  shall 
see  all  that  later;  meanwhile,  the  dinner  is  getting  cold." 
And,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  she  led  him  into  the  little 
room,  where,  by  her  jokes  and  gaiety,  she  soon  succeeded 
in  removing  the  last  traces  of  sadness  from  Buvat's  face. 

What  would  he  have  said  if  he  had  known  all? 

Bathilde  thought  she  could  do  the  two  drawings  for 
Monsieur  Papillon  in  eight  or  ten  days;  there  therefore 
remained  the  half,  at  least,  of  every  month,  which  she 
was  determined  not  to  lose.  She,  therefore,  charged 
Nanette  to  search  amongst  the  neighbours  for  some  difli- 
cult,  and  consequently  well-paid  needlework,  which  she 
could  do  in  Buvat's  absence.  Nanette  easily  found  what 
she  sought.  It  was  the  time  for  laces.  The  great  ladies 
paid  fifty  louis  a  yard  for  guipure,  and  then  ran  carelessly 
through  the  woods  with  these  transparent  dresses.  The 
result  of  this  was,  that  many  a  rent  had  to  be  concealed 
from  mothers  and  husbands,  so  that  at  this  time  there  was 
more  to  be  made  by  mending  than  by  selling  laces.  From 
her  first  attempt,  Bathilde  did  wonders  ;  her  needle  seemed 


BATIIILDE.  181 

to  be  that  of  a  fairy.  Nanette  received  many  compliments 
on  the  work  of  the  unknown  Penelope,  who  did  by  day 
what  was  undone  by  night.  Thanks  to  Bathilde's  indus- 
try, they  began  to  have  much  greater  ease  in  their  house. 

Buvat,  more  tranquil,  and  seeing  that  he  must  renounce 
his  Sunday  walks,  determined  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
famous  terrace  which  had  determined  him  in  the  choice  of 
his  house.  For  a  week  he  spent  an  hour  morning  and 
evening  taking  measures,  without  any  one  knowing  what 
he  intended  to  do.  At  length  he  decided  on  having  a 
fountain,  a  grotto,  and  an  arbour.  Collecting  the  materials 
for  these,  and  afterwards  building  them,  had  occupied  all 
Buvat's  spare  time  for  twelve  months.  During  this  time 
Bathilde  had  passed  from  her  fifteenth  to  her  sixteenth 
year,  and  the  charming  child  into  a  beautiful  woman.  It 
was  during  this  time  that  her  neighbour,  Boniface  Denis, 
had  remarked  her,  and  his  mother,  who  could  refuse  him 
nothing,  after  having  been  for  information  to  the  Rue 
Pagevin,  had  presented  herself,  under  pretext  of  neigh- 
bourhood, to  Buvat  and  his  ward,  and,  after  a  little  while, 
invited  them  both  to  pass  Sunday  evenings  with  her. 

The  invitation  was  given  with  so  good  a  grace  that  there 
was  no  means  of  refusing  it,  and  indeed  Buvat  was 
delighted  that  some  opportunity  of  amusement  should  be 
presented  to  Bathilde,  besides,  as  he  knew  that  Madame 
Denis  had  two  daughters,  perhaps  he  was  not  sorry  to 
enjoy  that  triumph  which  his  paternal  pride  assured  him 
Bathilde  could  not  fail  to  obtain  over  Mademoiselle  Emilie 
and  Mademoiselle  Athenais.  However,  things  did  not  pass 
exactly  as  he  had  arranged  them,  Bathilde  soon  saw  the 
mediocrity  of  her  rivals,  so  that  when  they  spoke  of  draw- 
ing, and  called  on  her  to  admire  some  heads  by  these  young 
ladies,  she  pretended  to  have  nothing  in  the  house  that 
she  could  show,  while  Buvat  knew  that  there  were  in  her 
portfolio  two  heads,  one  of  the  infant  Jesus,  and  one  of 
St.  John,  both  charming;  but  this  was  not  all, —  the  Demoi- 
selles Denis  sang  ;  and  when  they  asked  Bathilde  to  sing, 


182  THE    CIIKVALIKR    d'hARMKNTAL. 

she  chose  a  simple  little  romance  in  two  verses,  which  lasted 
five  minutes,  instead  of  the  grand  scene  which  Buvat  liad 
expected. 

However,  this  conduct  appeared  singularly  to  increase 
the  regard  of  iMachuue  Denis  for  the  young  girl,  for 
Madame  Denis  was  not  without  some  uneasiness  witii 
respect  to  the  event  of  an  artistic  struggle  between  the 
young  people.  BathilJe  was  overwhelmed  with  caresses 
by  the  good  wouian,  wlio,  when  she  was  gone,  declared  she 
was  full  of  talents  and  modesty,  and  that  she  well  deserved 
all  the  praises  lavished  upou  her.  A  retired  silk-mercer 
raised  her  voice  to  recall  tiie  strange  position  of  the  tutor 
and  the  pupil,  but  Madame  Denis  imposed  silence  on  this 
malicious  tongue  by  declaring  that  she  knew  the  whole 
history  from  beginning  to  end,  and  that  it  did  the  greatest 
honour  to  both  her  neighbours.  It  was  a  small  lie,  how- 
ever, of  good  Madame  Denis,  but  it  v/as  doubtless  pardoned 
in  consideration  of  the  intention. 

As  to  Boniface,  in  coxupany  he  was  dumb  and  a  nonen- 
tity; he  had  been  this  evening  so  remarkably  stupid  that 
Bathilde  had  hardly  noticed  him  at  all. 

But  it  was  not  thus  with  Boniface,  who,  having  admired 
Bathilde  from  a  distance,  became  quite  crazy  about  her 
when  he  saw  her  near.  He  began  to  sit  constantly  at  his 
window,  which  obliged  Bathilde  to  keep  hers  closed;  for 
it  will  be  remembered  that  Boniface  then  inhabited  the 
room  now  occupied  by  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental.  This 
conduct  of  Bathilde,  in  which  it  was  impossible  to  see 
anything  but  supreme  modesty,  only  augmented  the  passion 
of  her  neighbour.  At  his  request,  his  mother  went  again 
to  the  Rue  Pagevin,  and  to  the  Rue  des  Orties,  where  she 
had  learned  from  an  old  woman  something  of  the  death 
scene  we  have  related,  and  in  which  Buvat  played  so  noble 
a  part.  She  had  forgotten  the  names,  and  she  only  remem- 
bered that  the  father  was  a  handsome  young  officer,  who 
had  been  killed  in  Spain,  and  that  the  mother  was  a  charm- 
ing young  womau,  who  had  died  of  grief  and  poverty. 


BATHILDR.  183 

Boniface  also  had  been  in  search  of  news,  and  had 
learned  from  his  employer,  who  was  a  friend  of  lîuvat's 
notary,  that  every  year  for  six  years  past  five  hundred 
francs  had  been  deposited  with  him  in  lîathilde's  name, 
which,  with  the  interest,  formed  a  little  capital  of  seven  or 
eight  thousand  francs.  This  was  not  much  for  Boniface, 
who,  as  his  mother  said,  would  have  three  thousand  francs 
a  year,  but  a,t  least  it  showed  that  Bathilde  was  not  desti- 
tute. At  the  end  of  a  month,  during  which  time  Madame 
Denis's  friendship  for  Bathilde  did  not  diminish,  seeing 
that  her  son's  love  greatly  increased,  she  determined  to 
ask  her  hand  for  him.  One  afternoon,  as  Buvat  returned 
from  business,  Madame  Denis  waited  fur  him  at  her  door, 
and  made  a  sign  to  him  that  she  had  something  to  say  to 
him.  Buvat  followed  her  politely  into  her  room,  of  which 
she  closed  the  door,  that  she  might  not  be  interrupted; 
and  when  Buvat  was  seated,  she  asked  for  the  hand  of 
Bathilde  for  her  son. 

Buvat  was  quite  bewildered.  It  had  never  entered  his 
mind  that  Bathilde  might  marry.  Life  without  Bathilde 
appeared  so  impossible  a  thing  that  he  changed  colour  at 
the  bare  idea.  jMadame  Denis  did  not  fail  to  remark  the 
strange  effect  that  her  request  had  produced  on  Buvat. 
She  would  not  even  allow  him  to  think  it  had  passed  un- 
noticed. She  offered  him  the  bottle  of  salts  which  she 
always  kept  on  the  chimney-piece,  that  she  might  repeat 
three  or  four  times  a  week  that  her  nerves  were  very 
sensitive. 

Buvat,  instead  of  simply  smelling  the  salts  from  a  rea- 
sonable distance,  put  the  bottle  close  up  under  his  nose. 
The  effect  was  rapid.  He  bounded  to  his  feet,  as  if 
the  angel  of  Habakkuk  had  taken  him  by  the  hair.  He 
sneezed  for  about  ten  minutes;  then,  having  regained  his 
senses,  he  said  that  he  understood  the  honourable  proposal 
made  for  Bathilde,  but  that  he  was  only  her  guardian; 
that  he  would  tell  her  of  the  proposal,  but  must  leave  her 
free  to  accept  or  refuse. 


184  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

Madame  Denis  thouglit  this  perfectly  right,  and  con- 
ducted him  to  the  door,  saying  that,  waiting  a  reply,  she 
was  their  very  humble  servant. 

Buvat  went  home,  and  found  Bathilde  very  uneasy;  he 
was  half  an  hour  late,  which  had  not  happened  before  for 
ten  years.  The  uneasiness  of  the  young  girl  was  doubled 
when  she  saw  Buvat's  sad  and  preoccupied  air,  and  she 
wanted  to  know  directly  what  it  was  that  caused  the 
abstracted  mien  of  her  dear  friend.  Buvat,  who  had  not 
had  time  to  prepare  a  speech,  tried  to  put  off  the  expla- 
nation till  after  dinner;  but  Bathilde  declared  that  she 
should  not  go  to  dinner  till  she  knew  what  had  happened. 
Buvat  was  thus  obliged  to  deliver  on  the  spot,  and  without 
preparation,  Madame  Denis's  proposal  to  Bathilde. 

Bathilde  blushed  directly,  as  a  young  girl  always  does 
when  they  talk  to  her  of  marriage;  then,  taking  the  nands 
of  Buvat,  who  was  sitting  down,  trembling  with  fear,  and 
looking  at  him  with  that  sweet  smile  which  was  the  sun 
of  the  poor  writer,  — 

"Then,  my  dear  father,"  said  she,  "you  have  had  enough 
of  your  daughter,  and  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  her  ?  " 

"I,"  said  Buvat,  "1  who  wish  to  get  rid  of  you!  No, 
my  child;  it  is  I  who  shall  die  of  grief  if  you  leave  me." 

"Then,  my  father,  why  do  you  talk  to  me  of  marriage  ?" 

"  Because  —  because  some  day  or  other  you  must  marry, 
and  if  you  find  a  good  partner,  although,  God  knows,  my 
little  Bathilde  deserves  some  one  better  than  Monsieur 
Boniface." 

"No,  my  father,"  answered  Bathilde,  "I  do  not  deserve 
any  one  better  than  Monsieur  Boniface,  but — " 

"Well,— but?" 

"But  I  will  never  marry." 

"What!  "  cried  Buvat,  "you  will  never  marry  ?" 

"Why  should  I?     Are  we  not  happy  as  we  are  ?  " 

"Are  we  not  happy?"  echoed  Buvat.  ^^  Sabre  de  bois  ! 
I  believe  we  are." 

Sabre  de  bois  was  an  exclamation  which  Buvat  allowed 


BATHILDE.  185 

himself  on  great  occasions,  and  which  ilhtstrated  admira- 
bly the  pacific  inclinations  of  the  worthy  fellow. 

"Well,  then,"  continued  Bathilde,  with  her  angel's 
smile,  "  if  we  are  happy,  let  us  rest  as  we  are.  You  know 
one  should  not  tempt  Providence." 

"Come  and  kiss  me,  my  child,"  said  Buvat;  "you  have 
just  lifted  Montmartre  off  my  stomach  !  " 

"  You  did  not  wish  for  this  marriage,  then  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  see  you  married  to  that  wretched  little  imp 
of  a  Boniface,  against  whom  I  took  a  dislike  the  first  time 
I  saw  him  !     I  did  not  know  why,  though  I  know  now." 

"  If  you  did  not  desire  this  marriage,  why  did  you  speak 
to  me  about  it  ?  " 

"Because  you  know  well  that  I  am  not  really  your 
father,  that  I  have  no  authority  over  you,  that  you  are 
free." 

"Indeed,  am  I  free?"  answered  Bathilde,  laughing. 

"Free  as  air." 

"Well,  then,  if  I  am  free,  I  refuse." 

*^ Diable!  I  am  highly  satisfied,"  said  Buvat;  "but  how 
shall  I  tell  it  to  Madame  Denis  ?  " 

"  How  ?  Tell,  her  that  1  am  too  young,  that  I  do  not 
wish  to  marry,  that  I  want  to  stop  with  you  always." 

"Come  to  dinner,"  said  Buvat,  "perhaps  a  bright  idea 
will  strike  me  when  I  am  eating.  It  is  odd  !  my  appetite 
has  come  back  all  of  a  sudden.  Just  now  I  thought  I 
could  not  swallow  a  drop  of  water.  Now  I  could  drink 
the  Seine  dry." 

Buvat  drank  like  a  Suisse,  and  ate  like  an  ogre;  but, 
in  spite  of  this  infraction  of  his  ordinary  habits,  no  bright 
idea  came  to  his  aid;  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  tell 
Madame  Denis  openly  that  Bathilde  was  very  much 
honoured  by  her  selection,  but  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
marry. 

This  unexpected  response  perfectly  dumfounded  Mad- 
ame Denis,  who  had  never  imagined  that  a  poor  little 
orphan  like  Bathilde  could  refuse  so  brilliant  a  match  as 


186  THK    CllKVALIER    I)'ll  ARMKNTAL. 

her  son;  coii.sc'(|ueutly  she  answered  very  sharply,  tliat 
every  one  was  free  to  act  for  themselves,  and  that,  if 
Mademoiselle  Bathilde  chose  to  he  an  old  maid,  she  was 
perfectly  welcome. 

But  when  she  reflected  on  this  refusal,  which  her  mater- 
nal pride  could  not  understand,  all  the  old  calmunies 
which  she  had  heard  about  the  young  girl  and  her  guardian 
returned  to  her  mind;  and  as  she  was  in  a  disposition  to 
believe  them,  she  made  no  further  doubt  that  they  were 
true,  and  when  she  transmitted  their  beautiful  neighbour's 
answer  to  Boniface,  she  said,  to  console  him  for  this 
matrimonial  disappointment,  that  it  was  very  lucky  that 
she  had  refused,  since  if  she  had  accepted,  in  consequence 
of  what  she  had  learnt  she  could  not  have  allowed  such 
a  marriage  to  be  concluded. 

Madame  Denis  thought  it  uusuited  to  her  dignity  that 
after  so  humiliating  a  refusal  her  son  should  continue  to 
inhabit  the  room  opposite  Bathilde's,  so  she  gave  him  one 
on  the  ground  floor,  and  announced  that  his  old  one  was 
to  let. 

A  week  after,  as  Monsieur  Boniface,  to  revenge  himself 
on  Bathilde,  was  teasing  Mirza,  who  was  standing  in  the 
doorway,  not  thinking  it  fine  enough  to  trust  her  little 
white  feet  out  of  doors,  Mirza,  whom  the  habit  of  being 
fed  had  made  very  petulant,  darted  out  on  Monsieur  Boni- 
face, and  bit  him  cruelly  in  the  calf. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  this  that  the  poor  fellow, 
whose  heart  or  leg  was  not  very  well  healed,  cautioned 
D'Harmental  to  beware  of  the  coquetry  of  Bathilde,  and 
to  throw  a  sop  to  Mirza. 


FIKST   L,OVE.  187 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


FIRST    LOVE. 


Monsieur  Boniface's  room  remained  vacant  for  three  op 
four  months,  when  one  day  Bathilde,  who  was  accustomed 
to  see  the  window  closed,  on  raising  her  eyes  found  that 
it  was  open,  and  at  the  window  she  saw  a  strange  face  : 
it  was  that  of  D'Harmental.  Few  such  faces  as  that  of 
the  chevalier  were  seen  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu, 
liathilde,  admirably  situated,  behind  her  curtain,  for 
seeing  without  being  seen,  was  attracted  involuntarily. 
There  was  in  our  hero's  features  a  distinction  and  an 
elegance  wliich  could  not  escape  Bathilde's  eyes.  The 
chevalier's  dress,  simple  as  it  was,  betrayed  the  elegance 
of  the  wearer;  then  Bathilde  had  heard  him  give  some 
orders,  and  they  had  been  given  with  that  inflection  of 
voice  which  indicates  in  him  who  possesses  it  the  habit  of 
command. 

The  young  girl  had  discovered  at  the  first  glance  that 
this  man  was  very  superior  in  all  respects  to  him  whom 
he  succeeded  in  the  possession  of  this  little  room,  and 
with  that  instinct  so  natural  to  persons  of  good  birth,  she 
at  once  recognised  him  as  being  of  high  family.  The  same 
day  the  chevalier  had  tried  his  harpsichord.  At  the  first 
sound  of  the  instrument  Bathilde  had  raised  her  head. 
Tlie  chevalier,  though  he  did  not  know  that  he  had  a 
listener,  or  perhaps  because  he  did  not  know  it,  went  ou 
with  preludes  and  fantasias,  which  shoAved  an  amateur  of 
JiO  mean  talents.  At  these  sounds,  which  seemed  to  wake 
all  the  musical  chords  of  her  own  organisation,  Bathilde 
had  risen  and  approached  the  window  that  she  might  not 
lose  a  note,  for  such  an  amusement  was  unheard  of  in  the 


188  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

Rue  du  Temps  Perdu.  Then  it  was  that  D'Harment;il 
had  seen  against  the  window  the  charming  little  fingers  of 
his  neighbour,  and  had  driven  them  away  by  turning  round 
so  quickly  that  Bathilde  could  not  doubt  she  had  been 
seen. 

The  next  day  Bathilde  thought  it  was  a  long  time  since 
she  had  played,  and  sat  down  to  her  instrument.  She 
began  nervously,  she  knew  not  why;  but  as  she  was  an 
excellent  musician,  her  fear  soon  passed  away,  and  it  was 
tlien  that  she  executed  so  brilliantly  that  piece  from 
Armida  which  had  been  heard  with  so  much  astonish- 
ment by  the  chevalier  and  the  Abbé  Brigand. 

We  have  said  how  the  following  morning  the  chevalier 
had  seen  Buvat,  and  become  acquainted  with  Bathilde 's 
name.  The  appearance  of  the  young  girl  had  made  the 
deeper  impression  on  the  chevalier  from  its  being  so  un- 
expected in  such  a  place  ;  and  he  was  still  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  charm  when  Roquefinette  entered,  and  gave 
a  new  direction  to  his  thoughts,  which,  however,  soon 
returned  to  Bathilde.  The  next  day,  Bathilde,  who,  prof- 
iting by  the  first  ray  of  the  spring  sun,  was  early  at  her 
window,  noticed  in  her  turn  that  the  eyes  of  the  chevalier 
were  ardently  fixed  upon  her.  She  had  noticed  his  face, 
young  and  handsome,  but  to  which  the  thought  of  the 
responsibility  he  had  taken  gave  a  certain  air  of  sadness; 
but  sadness  and  youth  go  so  badly  together,  that  this 
anomaly  had  struck  her,  —  this  handsome  young  man  had 
then  something  to  annoy  him,  —  perhaps  he  was  unhappy. 
What  could  it  be?  Thus,  from  the  second  time  she  had 
seen  him,  Bathilde  had  very  naturally  meditated  about  the 
chevalier.  This  had  not  prevented  Bathilde  from  shutting 
her  window,  but,  from  behind  her  window,  she  still  saw 
the  outline  of  the  chevalier's  sad  face.  She  felt  that 
D'Harmental  was  sad,  and  when  she  sat  down  to  her  harp- 
sichord, was  it  not  from  a  secret  feeling  that  music  is  the 
consoler  of  troubled  hearts? 

That  evening  it  was   D'Harmental   who    played,    and 


FIRST   LOVE.  1S9 

BatliilJe  listened  with  all  her  soul  to  the  melodious  voice 
whioh  spoke  of  love  in  the  dead  of  night.  Unluckily  for 
the  chevalier,  who,  seeing  the  shadow  of  the  young  girl 
behinù  the  drapery,  began  to  think  that  he  was  making  a 
favourable  impression  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  he 
had  been  interrupted  in  his  concert  by  the  lodger  on  the 
third  floor;  but  the  most  important  thing  was  accomplished, 
—  there  was  already  a  point  of  sympathy  between  the  two 
young  people,  and  they  already  spoke  that  language  of  the 
heart,  the  most  dangerous  of  all. 

Moreover,  Bathilde,  who  had  dreamed  all  night  about 
music,  and  a  little  about  the  musician,  felt  that  something 
strange  and  unknown  to  her  was  going  on,  and,  attracted 
as  she  was  towards  the  window,  she  kept  it  scrupulously 
closed;  from  this  resulted  the  movement  of  impatience, 
under  the  influence  of  which  the  chevalier  had  gone  to 
breakfast  with  Madame  Denis. 

There  he  had  learnt  one  important  piece  of  news,  which 
was,  that  Bathilde  was  neither  the  daughter,  the  wife,  nor 
the  niece  of  Buvat;  thus  he  went  up  stairs  joyfully,  and, 
finding  the  window  open,  he  had  put  himself — in  spite  of 
the  friendly  advice  of  Boniface  —  in  communication  with 
Mirza,  by  means  of  bribing  her  with  sugar.  The  unex- 
pected return  of  Bathilde  had  interrupted  this  amusement; 
the  chevalier,  in  his  egotistical  delicacy,  had  shut  his 
window;  but  before  the  window  had  been  shut  a  salute 
had  been  exchanged  between  the  two  young  people.  This 
was  more  than  Bathilde  had  ever  accorded  to  any  man,  not 
that  she  had  not  from  time  to  time  exchanged  salutes  with 
some  acquaintance  of  Buvat's,  but  this  was  the  first  time 
she  had  blushed  as  she  did  so. 

The  next  day  Bathilde  had  seen  the  chevalier  at  his 
window,  and,  without  being  able  to  understand  the  action, 
had  seen  him  nail  a  crimson  ribbon  to  the  outer  wall;  but 
what  she  had  particularly  remarked  was  the  extraordinary 
animation  visible  on  the  face  of  the  young  man.  Half  an 
hour  afterwards  she  had  seen  with  the   chevalier   a  man 


3  90  TIIK   CIIEVALIEII  D'iIARMENTAL. 

perfectly  unknown  to  her,  but  whose  appearance  was  not 
reassuring-;  this  was  Captain  lloquefinette.  Bathilde  had 
also  remarked,  with  a  vague  uneasiness,  that,  as  soon  as 
the  man  with  the  long  sword  had  entered,  tlio  chevalier 
had  fastened  the  door. 

Tlie  chevalier,  as  is  easy  to  understand,  had  a  long  con- 
ference with  the  captain;  for  they  had  to  arrange  all  the 
preparations  for  the  evening's  expedition.  The  elievalier's 
window  remained  thus  so  long  closed  that  Batliilde,  think- 
ing that  he  had  gone  out,  had  thought  she  might  as  well 
open  hers. 

Hardly  was  it  open,  however,  when  her  neighbour's, 
which  had  seemed  only  to  wait  the  moment  to  put  itself 
in  commuiiicaton  with  her,  opened  in  its  turn.  Luckily 
for  Bathilde,  who  would  have  been  much  embarrassed  b}- 
this  circumstance,  she  was  in  that  part  of  the  room  where 
the  chevalier  could  not  see  her.  She  determined,  there- 
fore, to  remain  where  she  was,  and  sat  down  near  the 
second  half  of  the  window,  which  was  still  shut. 

Mirza,  however,  who  had  not  the  same  scruples  as  her 
mistress,  hardly  saw  the  chevalier  before  she  ran  to  the 
window,  placed  her  front  paws  on  the  sill,  and  began 
dancing  on  her  hind  ones.  These  attentions  were  re- 
warded, as  she  expected,  by  a  first,  then  a  second,  then 
a  third  lump  of  sugar;  but  this  third  bit,  to  the  no  small 
astonishment  of  Bathilde,  was  wrapped  up  in  a  piece  of 
paper. 

This  piece  of  paper  troubled  Bathilde  a  great  deal  more 
than  it  did  Mirza,  who,  accustomed  to  crackers  and  sua-e 
lie  pomme,  soon  got  the  sugar  out  of  its  envelope  by  means 
of  her  paws  ;  and,  as  she  thought  very  much  of  the  inside, 
and  very  little  of  the  wrapper,  she  ate  the  sugar,  and, 
leaving  the  paper,  ran  to  the  window;  but  the  chevalier 
was  gone;  satisfied,  no  doubt,  of  Mirza's  skill,  he  had 
retired  into  his  room. 

Bathilde  was  very  much  embarrassed;  she  had  seen,  at 
the  first  glance,  that   the   paper   contained   three  or  four 


FIRST   LOVE.  191 

lines  of  writing;  but,  in  spite  of  the  sudden  friendship 
which  her  neighbour  seemed  to  have  acquired  for  Mirza, 
it  was  evidently  not  to  Mirza  that  he  was  writing  letters, 
—  it  must,  therefore,  be  to  her.  What  should  she  do? 
Go  and  tear  it  up?  That  would  be  noble  and  proper;  but, 
even  if  it  were  possible  to  do  such  a  thing,  the  paper  in 
which  the  sugar  had  been  wrapped  might  have  been 
written  on  some  time,  and  then  the  action  would  be  ridicu- 
lous in  the  highest  degree,  and  it  would  show,  at  any  rate, 
that  she  thought  about  the  letter.  Bathilde  resolved,  then, 
to  leave  things  as  they  were.  The  chevalier  could  not 
know  that  she  was  at  home,  since  he  had  not  seen  her;  he 
could  not,  therefore,  draw  any  deduction  from  the  fact 
that  the  paper  remained  on  the  floor.  She  therefore  con- 
tinued to  work,  or  rather  to  reflect,  hidden  behind  her 
curtain,  as  the  chevalier  probably  was  behind  his. 

In  about  an  hour,  of  which  it  must  be  confessed  Bathilde 
passed  three  quarters  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  paper, 
Nanette  entered.  Bathilde,  without  moving,  told  her  to 
shut  the  window.  Nanette  obeyed;  but  in  returning  she 
saw  the  paper. 

"  What  is  that?  "  asked  she,  stooping  down  to  pick  it  up. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Bathilde  quickly,  forgetting  that 
Nanette  could  not  read,  "only  a  paper  which  has  fallen 
out  of  my  pocket."  Then,  after  an  instant's  pause,  and 
with  a  visible  effort,  "and  which  you  may  throw  on  the 
fire,"  continued  she. 

"But  perhaps  it  may  be  something  important;  see  what 
it  is,  at  all  events,  mademoiselle."  And  Nanette  presented 
the  letter  to  Bathilde. 

The  temptation  was  too  strong  to  resist,  Bathilde  cast 
her  eyes  on  the  paper,  affecting  an  air  of  indifference  as 
well  as  she  could,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"They  say  you  are  an  orphan:  I  have  no  parents;  we 
are,  then,  brother  and  sister  before  God.  This  evening  I 
run  a  great  danger;  but  I  hope  to  come  out  of  it  safe  and 
sound  if  my  sister  —  Bathilde  —  will  pray  for  her  brother 
Raoul." 


192  ÏIIK    CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Bathilde,  in  a  moved  voice,  and, 
taking  the  paper  from  the  hands  of  Nanette,  "that  paper 
is  more  important  than  I  thought;"  and  she  put  D'Har- 
mental's  letter  in  the  pocket  of  her  apron.  Five  minutes 
after,  Nanette,  who  came  in  twenty  times  a  day  without 
any  particular  reason,  went  out  as  she  had  entered,  and 
left  Bathikle  alone. 

Bathilde  had  only  just  glanced  at  the  letter,  and  it  liad 
seemed  to  dazzle  her.  As  soon  as  Nanette  was  gone  she 
read  it  a  second  time. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  said  more  in 
fewer  words.  If  D'Harmental  had  taken  a  whole  day  to 
combine  every  word  of  the  billet,  instead  of  writing  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  he  could  not  have  done  it  better. 
Indeed,  he  established  a  similarity  of  position  between 
himself  and  the  orphan;  he  interested  Bathilde  in  her 
neighbour's  fate  on  account  of  a  menacing  danger,  —  a 
danger  which  would  appear  all  the  greater  to  the  young 
girl  from  her  not  knowing  its  nature;  and,  finally,  the 
expression  brother  and  sister,  so  skilfully  glided  in  at  the 
end,  and  to  ask  a  simple  prayer,  excluded  from  these  first 
advances  all  idea  of  love. 

It  followed,  therefore,  that,  if  at  this  moment  Bathilde 
had  found  herself  vis-à-vis  with  D'Harmental,  instead  of 
being  embarrassed  and  blushing,  as  a  young  girl  would 
who  had  just  received  her  first  love-letter,  she  would  have 
taken  him  by  the  hand  and  said  to  him,  smiling,  "Be 
satisfied,  I  will  pray  for  you."  There  remained,  however, 
on  the  mind  of  Bathilde,  something  more  dangerous  than 
all  the  declarations  in  the  world,  and  that  was  the  idea  of 
the  peril  which  her  neighbour  ran.  By  a  sort  of  presenti- 
ment with  which  she  had  been  seized  on  seeing  him,  with 
a  face  so  different  from  his  ordinary  expression,  nail  the 
crimson  ribbon  to  his  window,  and  withdraw  it  directly 
the  captain  entered,  she  was  almost  sure  that  the  danger 
was  somehow  connected  with  this  new  personage,  whom 
she  had  never   seen  before.     But  how   did  this   danger 


FIRST   LOVE.  193 

concern  Ivim?  '^liat  was  the  nature  of  the  danger  itself  ? 
This  w^s  wha-t  she  asked  herself  in  vain.  She  thought  of 
a  duel,  but  to  a  man  such  as  the  chevalier  appeared  to  be, 
a  dnel  was  not  one  of  those  dangers  for  which  one  asks  the 
pvayers  of  women  ;  besides,  the  hour  named  was  not  suita- 
ble to  duels.  Bathilde  lost  herself  in  her  conjectures; 
^ut,  in  losing  herself,  she  thought  of  the  chevalier,  always 
Nf  the  chevalier,  and  of  nothing  but  the  chevalier;  and,  if 
he  had  calculated  upon  such  an  effect,  it  must  be  owned 
that  his  calculations  were  wofully  true  for  poor  Bathilde. 

The  day  passed;  and,  whether  it  was  intentional,  or 
whether  it  was  that  he  was  otherwise  employed,  Bathilde 
saw  him  no  more,  and  his  window  remained  closed.  When 
Buvat  came  home  as  usual,  at  ten  minutes  after  four,  he 
found  the  young  girl  so  much  preoccupied  that,  although 
his  perspicacity  was  not  great  in  such  matters,  he  asked 
her  three  or  four  times  if  anything  was  wrong;  each  time 
she  answered  by  one  of  those  smiles  which  supplied  Bu- 
vat with  enough  to  do  in  looking  at  her;  and  it  followed 
that,  in  spite  of  these  repeated  questions,  Bathilde  kept  her 
secret. 

After  dinner  Monsieur  Chaulieu's  servant  entered;  he 
came  to  ask  Buvat  to  spend  the  evening  with  his  master. 
The  Abbé  Chaulieu  was  one  of  Buvat's  best  patrons,  and 
often  came  to  his  house,  for  he  had  taken  a  great  liking 
for  Bathilde.  The  poor  abbé  became  blind,  but  not  so 
entirely  as  not  to  be  able  to  recognise  a  pretty  face; 
though  it  is  true  that  he  saw  it  across  a  cloud.  The  abbé 
had  told  Bathilde,  in  his  sexagenarian  gallantry,  that  his 
only  consolation  was  that  it  is  thus  that  one  sees  the 
angels. 

Bathilde  thanked  the  good  abbé  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart  for  thus  getting  her  an  evening's  solitude.  She 
knew  that  when  Buvat  went  to  the  Abbé  Chaulieu  he 
ordinarily  stayed  some  time;  she  hoped,  then,  that  he 
would  stop  late  as  usual.  Poor  Buvat  went  out  without 
imagining  that  for  the  first  time  she  desired  his  absence. 

13 


194  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

Buvat  was  a  lounger,  as  every  bourgeois  of  Paris  ought 
to  be.  From  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  Palais  Royal  he 
stared  at  the  shops,  stopping  for  tlie  thousandth  time 
before  the  things  which  generally  drew  his  attention.  On 
leaving  the  colonnade,  he  heard  singing,  and  saw  a  group 
of  men  and  women,  who  were  listening  to  the  songs;  he 
joined  them,  and  listened  too.  At  the  moment  of  the 
collection  he  went  away,  not  from  a  bad  heart,  nor  that 
he  woiild  have  wished  to  refuse  the  admirable  musician 
the  reward  which  was  his  due,  but  that  by  an  old  habit, 
of  which  time  had  proved  the  advantage,  he  always  came 
out  without  money,  so  that  by  whatever  he  was  tempted 
he  was  sure  to  overcome  the  temptation.  This  evening  he 
was  much  tempted  to  drop  a  sou  into  the  singer's  bowl, 
but  as  he  had  not  a  sou  in  his  pocket,  he  was  obliged  to 
go  away.  He  made  his  way,  then,  as  we  have  seen, 
towards  the  Barrière  des  Sergents,  passed  up  the  Rue  du 
Coq,  crossed  the  Pont-Neuf,  returned  along  the  quay  so 
far  as  the  Rue  Mazarine  ;  it  was  in  the  Rue  Mazarine  that 
the  Abbé  Chaulieu  lived. 

The  Abbé  Chaulieu  recognised  Buvat,  whose  excellent 
qualities  he  had  appreciated  during  their  two  years' 
acquaintance,  and  with  much  pressing  on  his  part,  and 
many  difficulties  on  Buvat's,  made  him  sit  down  near 
himself  before  a  table  covered  with  papers.  It  is  true  that 
at  first  Buvat  sat  on  the  very  edge  of  his  chair;  gradually, 
however,  he  got  further  and  further  on,  —  put  his  hat  on 
the  ground, — took  his  cane  between  his  legs,  and  found 
himself  sitting  almost  like  any  one  else. 

The  work  that  there  was  to  be  done  did  not  promise  a 
short  sitting;  there  were  thirty  or  forty  poems  on  the 
table  to  be  classified,  numbered,  and,  as  the  abbe's  ser- 
vant was  his  amanuensis,  corrected;  so  that  it  was  eleven 
o'clock  before  they  thought  that  it  had  struck  nine.  They 
had  just  finished  and  Buvat  rose,  horrified  at  having  to 
come  home  at  such  an  hour.  It  was  the  first  time  such  a 
thing  had  ever  happened  to  him;  he  rolled  up  the  manu- 


FIRST   LOVE.  195 

script,  tied  it  with  a  red  ribbon,  which  had  probably- 
served  as  a  sash  to  Mademoiselle  Delaunay,  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  took  his  cane,  picked  up  his  hat,  and  left  the 
house,  abridging  his  leave-taking  as  much  as  possible.  To 
add  to  his  misfortunes  there  was  no  moonlight,  the  night 
was  cloudy.  Buvat  regretted  not  having  two  sous  in  his 
pocket  to  cross  the  ferry  which  was  then  where  now  stands 
the  Pont  des  Arts;  but  we  have  already  explained  Buvat's 
theory  to  our  readers,  and  he  was  obliged  to  return  as  he 
had  come,  —  by  the  Quai  Conti,  the  Kue  Pont-Neuf,  the 
Rue  du  Coq,  and  the  Rue  Saint  Honoré. 

Everything  had  gone  right  so  far,  and  except  the  statue 
of  Henry  IV.,  of  which  Buvat  had  forgotten  either  the 
existence  or  the  place,  and  which  had  frightened  him 
terribly,  and  the  Samaritaine,  which,  fifty  steps  off,  had 
struck  the  half -hour  without  any  preparation,  the  noise  of 
which  had  made  poor  belated  Buvat  tremble  from  head  to 
foot,  he  had  run  no  real  peril,  but  on  arriving  at  the  Rue 
des  Bons  Enfants  things  took  a  different  look.  In  the  first 
place  the  aspect  of  the  street  itself,  long,  narrow,  and  only 
lighted  by  two  flickering  lanterns  in  the  whole  length, 
was  not  reassuring,  and  this  evening  it  had  to  Buvat  a 
very  singular  appearance;  he  did  not  know  whether  he 
was  asleep  or  awake;  he  fancied  that  he  saw  before  him 
some  fantastic  vision,  such  as  he  had  heard  told  of  the  old 
Flemish  sorceries;  the  streets  seemed  alive, — the  posts 
seemed  to  oppose  themselves  to  his  passage,  — the  recesses 
of  the  doors  whispered  to  each  other,  — men  crossed  like 
shadows  from  one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other;  at  last, 
when  he  had  arrived  at  No.  24,  he  was  stopped,  as  we 
have  seen,  by  the  chevalier  and  the  captain.  It  was  then 
that  D'Harmental  had  recognised  him,  and  had  protected 
him  against  the  first  impulse  of  Roquefinette,  inviting  him 
to  continue  his  route  as  quickly  as  possible.  There  was 
no  need  to  repeat  the  request.  Buvat  set  off  at  a  trot, 
gained  the  Place  des  Victoires,  the  Rue  du  Mail,  the  Rue 
Montmartre,  and  at  last  arrived  at  his  own  house.  No.  4 


19G  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

Rue  du  Temps  Perdu,  where,  nevertheless,  he  did  not 
think  himself  safe  till  he  had  shut  the  door  and  bolted  it 
behind  him. 

There  he  stopped  an  instant  to  breathe,  and  to  light  his 
candle;  tlien  ascended  the  stairs;  but  lie  felt  in  his  legs 
the  effect  of  the  occurrence,  for  he  trembled  so  that  he 
could  hardly  get  to  the  top. 

As  to  Bathilde,  she  had  remained  alone,  getting  more 
and  more  uneasy  as  the  evening  advanced.  Up  to  seven 
o'clock  she  had  seen  a  liglit  in  her  neighbour's  room,  but 
at  that  time  the  lamp  had  been  extinguished,  and  had  not 
been  relighted.  Then  Bathilde's  time  became  divided 
between  two  occupations  ;  —  one  of  which  consisted  in 
standing  at  her  window  to  see  if  her  neighbour  did  not 
return;  the  other^  in  kneeling  before  the  crucifix,  where 
she  said  her  evening  prayers.  She  heard  nine,  ten,  eleven, 
and  half -past  eleven  strike  successively.  She  had  heard 
all  the  noises  in  the  streets  die  away  one  by  one,  and  sink 
gradually  into  that  vague  and  heavy  sound  which  seems 
the  breathing  of  a  sleeping  town;  and  all  this  without 
bringing  her  the  slightest  inkling  as  to  whether  he  who 
had  called  himself  her  brother  had  sunk  under  the  danger 
which  hung  over  his  head,  or  come  triumphant  through 
the  crisis. 

She  was  then  in  her  own  room,  without  light,  so  that 
no  one  might  see  that  she  was  watching,  and  kneeling 
before  her  crucifix  for  the  tenth  time,  when  the  door 
opened,  and,  by  the  light  of  his  candle,  she  saw  Buvat  so 
pale  and  haggard  that  she  knew  in  an  instant  that  some- 
thing must  have  happened  to  him,  and  she  rose,  in  spite 
of  the  uneasiness  she  felt  for  another,  and  darted  towards 
him,  asking  what  was  the  matter.  But  it  was  no  easy 
thing  to  make  Buvat  speak,  in  the  state  he  then  was;  the 
shock  had  reached  his  mind,  and  his  tongue  stammered  as 
much  as  his  legs  trembled. 

Still,  when  Buvat  was  seated  in  his  easy-chair,  and  had 
wiped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief,   whe^n  he  had 


FIRST    LOVE.  197 

made  two  or  three  journeys  to  the  door  to  see  that  his 
terrible  hosts  of  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants  had  not  fol- 
lowed him  home,  he  began  to  stutter  out  his  adventure. 
He  told  how  he  had  been  stopped  in  the  Rue  des  Bons 
Enfants  by  a  band  of  robbers,  whose  lieutenant,  a  ferocious- 
looking  man  nearly  six  feet  high,  had  wanted  to  kill  him, 
when  the  captain  had  come  and  saved  his  life.  Bathilde 
listened  with  rapt  attention,  first,  because  she  loved  her 
guardian  sincerely,  and  that  his  condition  showed  that  — 
right  or  wrong — he  had  been  greatly  terrified;  next, 
because  nothing  that  happened  that  night  seemed  indiffer- 
ent to  her;  and,  strange  as  the  idea  was,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  handsome  young  man  was  not  wholly  unconnected 
with  the  scene  in  which  Buvat  had  just  played  a  part. 
She  asked  him  if  he  had  time  to  observe  the  face  of 
the  young  man  who  had  come  to  his  aid,  and  saved  his 
life. 

Buvat  answered  that  he  had  seen  him  face  to  face,  as  he 
saw  her  at  that  moment,  and  that  the  proof  was  that  he 
was  a  handsome  young  man  of  from  five  to  six  and 
twenty,  in  a  large  felt  hat,  and  wrapped  in  a  cloak  ;  more- 
over, in  the  movement  which  he  had  made  in  stretching 
out  his  hand  to  protect  him,  the  cloak  had  opened,  and 
shown  that,  besides  his  sword,  he  carried  a  pair  of  pistols 
in  his  belt.  These  details  were  too  precise  to  allow  Buvat 
to  be  accused  of  dreaming.  Preoccupied  as  Bathilde  was 
with  the  danger  which  the  chevalier  ran,  she  was  none  the 
less  touched  by  that  smaller  no  doubt,  but  still  real  one, 
which  Buvat  had  just  escaped;  and  as  repose  is  the  best 
remedy  for  all  shocks,  physical  or  moral,  after  offering 
him  the  glass  of  wine  and  sugar  which  he  allowed  himself 
on  great  occasions,  and  which  nevertheless  he  refused  on 
this  one,  she  reminded  him  of  his  bed,  where  he  ought  to 
have  been  two  hours  before. 

The  shock  had  been  violent  enough  to  deprive  Buvat  of 
all  wish  for  sleep,  and  even  to  convince  him  that  he  should 
sleep  badly  that  night;  but  he  reflected  that  in  sitting  up 


198  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

he  should  force  Bathilde  to  sit  up,  and  should  see  her  in 
the  morning  witli  red  eyes  and  pale  cheeks,  and,  with  bis 
usual  sacrifice  of  self,  he  told  lîathilde  that  she  was  right, 
—  that  he  felt  that  sleep  would  do  him  good,  —  lit  his 
candle,  kissed  her  forehead,  and  went  up  to  his  own  room, 
not  without  stopping  two  or  three  times  on  the  staircase 
to  hear  if  there  was  any  noise. 

Left  alone,  lîathilde  listened  to  the  steps  of  Buvat,  who 
went  up  into  his  own  room;  then  she  heard  the  creaking 
of  his  door,  which  he  double  locked;  then,  almost  as 
trembling  as  Buvat  himself,  she  ran  to  the  window,  for- 
getting even  to  pray.  She  remained  thus  for  nearly  an 
hour,  but  without  having  kept  any  measure  of  time.  Then 
she  gave  a  cry  of  joy,  for  through  the  window,  which  no 
curtain  now  obscured,  she  saw  her  neighbour's  door  open, 
and  D'Harmeutal  enter  with  a  candle  in  his  hand. 

By  a  miracle  of  foresight  Bathilde  had  been  right.  The 
man  in  the  felt  hat  and  the  cloak,  who  had  protected 
Buvat,  was  really  the  young  stranger,  for  the  stranger  had 
on  a  felt  hat  and  a  cloak;  and  moreover,  hardly  had  he 
returned  and  shut  the  door,  with  almost  as  much  care  as 
Buvat  had  his,  and  thrown  his  cloak  on  a  chair,  than  she 
saw  that  he  had  a  tight  coat  of  a  dark  colour,  and  in  his 
belt  a  sword  and  pistols.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt; 
it  was  from  head  to  foot  the  description  given  by  Buvat. 
Bathilde  was  the  more  able  to  assure  herself  of  this,  that 
D'Harmental,  without  taking  off  any  of  his  attire,  took 
two  or  three  turns  in  his  room,  his  arms  crossed,  and 
thinking  deeply;  then  he  took  his  pistols  from  his  belt, 
assured  himself  that  they  were  primed,  and  placed  them 
on  the  table  near  his  bed,  unclasped  his  sword,  took  it 
half  out  of  the  scabbard,  replaced  it,  and  put  it  under 
his  pillow;  then,  shaking  his  head,  as  if  to  shake  out 
the  sombre  ideas  that  annoyed  him,  he  approached  the 
window,  opened  it,  and  gazed  earnestly  at  that  of  the 
young  girl,  who,  forgetting  that  she  could  not  be  seen, 
stepped  back,  and  let  the   curtain   fall  before  her,  as  if 


FIRST   LOVE.  199 

the  darkness  which  surrounded   her  were  not  a  sufficient 
screen. 

She  remained  thus  motionless  and  silent,  her  hand  on 
her  heart,  as  if  to  still  its  beatings;  then  she  quietly 
raised  the  curtain,  but  that  of  her  neighbour  was  down, 
and  she  saw  nothing  but  his  shadow  passing  and  repassing 
before  it. 


200  THE   CHEVAUER   D'HARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   CONSUL    DUILIUS. 

The  morning  following  the  day,  or  rather  the  night,  on 
which  the  events  we  have  just  related  had  occurred,  the 
Due  d'Orléans,  who  had  returned  to  the  Palais  Royal 
without  accident,  after  having  slept  all  night  as  usual, 
passed  into  his  study  at  his  accustomed  hour,  —  that  is  to 
say,  about  eleven  o'clock.  Thanks  to  the  sang-froid  with 
which  nature  had  blessed  him,  and  which  he  owed  chiefly 
to  his  great  courage,  to  his  disdain  for  danger  and  his 
carelessness  of  death,  not  only  was  it  impossible  to  observe 
in  him  any  change  from  his  ordinary  calm,  which  ennui 
only  turned  to  gloom,  but  he  had  most  probably  already 
forgotten  the  strange  event  of  which  he  had  so  nearly  been 
the  victim. 

The  study  into  which  he  had  just  entered  was  remark- 
able as  belonging  to  a  man  at  once  a  savant,  a  politician, 
and  an  artist.  Thus  a  large  table  covered  with  a  green 
cloth,  and  loaded  with  papers,  inkstand,  and  pens,  occupied 
the  middle  of  the  room  ;  but  all  round,  on  desks,  on  easels, 
on  stands,  were  an  opera  commenced,  a  half-finished  draw- 
ing, a  chemical  retort,  etc.  The  regent,  with  a  strange 
versatility  of  mind,  passed  in  an  instant  from  the  deepest 
problems  of  politics  to  the  most  capricious  fancies  of 
painting,  and  from  the  most  delicate  calculations  of 
chemistry  to  the  sombre  or  joyous  inspirations  of  music. 
The  regent  feared  nothing  but  ennui,  that  enemy  against 
whom  he  struggled  unceasingly,  without  ever  quite  suc- 
ceeding in  conquering  it,  and  which,  repulsed  by  work, 
study,  or  pleasure,  yet  remained  in  sight  —  if  one  may  say 
so  —  like   one  of   those   clouds   on   the    horizon    towards 


The;  Regent  Okleans. 


THE   CONSUL   DUILIUS.  201 

which,  even  in  the  finest  days,  the  pilot  involuntarily 
turns  his  eyes.  The  regent  was  never  unoccupied,  and 
had  the  most  opposite  amusements  always  at  hand. 

On  entering  his  study,  where  the  council  were  to  meet 
in  two  hours,  he  went  towards  an  unfinished  drawing, 
representing  a  scene  from  "Daphnis  and  Chloe,"  and 
returned  to  the  work  interrupted  two  days  before  by  that 
famous  game  of  tennis,  which  had  commenced  by  a  racket 
blow,  and  finished  by  the  supper  at  Madame  de  Sabran's. 

A  messenger  came  to  tell  him  that  Madame  Elizabeth 
Charlotte,  his  mother,  had  asked  twice  if  he  were  up. 
The  regent,  who  had  the  most  profound  respect  for  the 
princess  palatine,  sent  word,  that  not  only  was  he  visible, 
but  that,  if  madame  were  ready  to  receive  him,  he  would 
pay  her  a  visit  directly.  He  then  returned  to  his  work 
with  all  the  eagerness  of  an  artist.  Shortly  after,  the  door 
opened,  and  his  mother  herself  appeared. 

Madame,  the  wife  of  Philippe,  the  first  brother  of  the 
king,  came  to  France  after  the  strange  and  unexpected 
death  of  Madame  Henriette  of  England,  to  take  the  place 
of  that  beautiful  and  gracious  princess,  who  had  passed 
from  the  scene  like  a  dream.  This  comparison,  difficult  to 
sustain  for  any  new-comer,  was  doubly  so  to  the  poor 
German  princess,  who,  if  we  may  believe  her  own  portrait, 
with  her  little  eyes,  her  short  and  thick  nose,  her  long, 
thin  lips,  her  hanging  cheeks  and  her  large  face,  was  far 
from  being  pretty.  Unfortunately,  the  faults  of  her  face 
were  not  compensated  for  by  beauty  of  figure.  She  was 
little  and  fat,  with  a  short  body  and  legs,  and  such  fright- 
ful hands  that  she  avows  herself  that  there  were  none 
uglier  to  be  found  in  the  world,  and  that  it  was  the  only 
thing  about  her  to  which  Louis  XIV.  could  never  become 
accustomed.  But  Louis  XIV.  had  chosen  her,  not  to 
increase  the  beauties  of  his  court,  but  to  extend  his  influ- 
ence beyond  the  Rhine. 

By  the  marriage  of  his  brother  with  the  princess  pala- 
tine, Louis  XIV.,  who  had  already  acquired  some  chance 


202  THE   CHEVALIKK   D'HARMENTAL. 

of  inheritance  in  Spain,  by  marrying  Maria  Theresa,  and 
by  Philip  the  First's  marriage  with  the  Princess  Henri- 
ette, only  sister  of  Charles  II.,  would  acquire  new  rights 
over  Bavaria,  and  probably  in  the  Palatinate.  He  cal- 
culated, and  calculated  rightly,  that  her  brother,  who  was 
delicate,  would  probably  die  young,  and  without  children. 

Madame,  instead  of  being  treated  at  her  husband's  death 
according  to  her  marriage  contract,  and  forced  to  retire 
into  a  convent,  or  into  the  old  castle  of  Montargis,  was, 
in  spite  of  Madame  de  Maintenon's  hatred,  maintained  by 
Louis  XIV.  in  all  the  titles  and  honours  which  she  enjoyed 
during  her  husband's  lifetime,  although  the  king  had  not 
forgotten  the  blow  which  she  gave  to  the  young  Due  de 
Chartres  at  Versailles,  when  he  announced  his  marriage 
with  Mademoiselle  de  Blois.  The  proud  princess,  with 
her  thirty-two  quarterings,  thought  it  a  humiliation  that 
her  son  should  marry  a  woman  whom  the  royal  legitima- 
tion could  not  prevent  from  being  the  fruit  of  a  double 
adultery,  and  at  the  first  moment,  unable  to  command  her 
feelings,  she  revenged  herself  by  this  maternal  correction, 
rather  exaggerated  when  a  young  man  of  eighteen  was 
the  object,  for  the  affront  offered  to  the  honour  of  her 
ancestors. 

As  the  young  Due  de  Chartres  had  himself  only  con- 
sented unwillingly  to  this  marriage,  he  easily  understood 
his  mother's  dislike  to  it,  though  he  would  have  preferred, 
doubtless,  that  she  should  have  shown  it  in  a  rather  less 
Teutonic  manner.  The  result  was,  that  when  Monsieur 
died,  and  the  Due  de  Chartres  became  Duc  d'Orléans,  his 
mother,  who  might  have  feared  that  the  blow  at  Versailles 
had  left  some  disagreeable  reminiscence  in  the  mind  of 
the  new  master  of  the  Palais  Royal,  found,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  more  respectful  son  than  ever.  This  respect 
increased,  and  as  regent  he  gave  his  mother  a  position 
equal  to  that  of  his  wife.  When  Madame  de  Berry,  his 
much-loved  daughter,  asked  her  father  for  a  company  of 
guards,  he  granted  it,  but  ordered  at  the  same  time  that 
a  similar  company  should  be  given  to  his  mother. 


THE  CONSUL   DUILIUS.  203 

Madame  held  thus  a  high  position,  and  if,  in  spite  of 
that  position,  she  had  no  political  influence,  the  reason 
was  that  the  regent  made  it  a  principle  of  action  never  to 
allow  women  to  meddle  with  state  affairs.  It  may  be 
also  that  Philip  the  Second,  Regent  of  France,  was  more 
reserved  towards  his  mother  than  towards  his  mistresses, 
for  he  knew  her  epistolary  inclinations,  and  he  had  no 
fancy  for  seeing  his  projects  made  the  subjects  of  the  daily 
correspondence  which  she  kept  up  with  the  Princess 
Wilhelmina  Charlotte,  and  the  Duke  Anthony  Ulric  of 
Brunswick.  In  exchange  for  this  loss,  he  left  her  the 
management  of  the  house  and  of  his  daughters,  which, 
from  her  overpowering  idleness,  the  Duchesse  d'Orléans 
abandoned  willingly  to  her  mother-in-law.  In  this  last 
particular,  however,  the  poor  palatine  (if  one  may  believe 
the  memoirs  written  at  the  time)  was  not  happy.  Madame 
de  Berry  lived  publicly  with  Riom,  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Valois  was  secretly  the  mistress  of  Richelieu,  who,  with- 
out anybody  knowing  how,  and  as  if  he  had  the  enchanted 
ring  of  Gyges,  appeared  to  get  into  her  rooms  in  spite  of 
the  guards  who  watched  the  doors,  in  spite  of  the  spies 
with  whom  the  regent  surrounded  him,  and  though  more 
than  once  he  had  hidden  himself  in  his  daughter's  room  to 
watch. 

As  to  Mademoiselle  de  Chartres,  whose  character  had  as 
yet  seemed  much  more  masculine  than  feminine,  she,  in 
making  a  man  of  herself,  as  one  may  say,  seemed  to  forget 
that  other  men  existed,  when,  some  days  before  the  time 
at  which  we  have  arrived,  being  at  the  opera,  and  hearing 
her  music  master,  Cauchereau,  the  finished  and  expressive 
singer  of  the  Académie  Royal,  who  in  a  love  scene  was 
prolonging  a  note  full  of  the  most  exquisite  grace  and  feel- 
ing, the  young  princess,  carried  away  by  artistic  enthu- 
siasm, stretched  out  her  arms  and  cried  aloud,  "Ah!  my 
dear  Cauchereau!"  This  unexpected  exclamation  had 
troubled  her  mother,  who  had  sent  away  the  beautiful 
tenor,  and,  putting  aside  her  habitual  apathy,  determined 


204  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

to  watch  over  her  daughter  herself.  There  remained  the 
Princess  Louise,  who  was  afterwards  Queen  of  Spain, 
and  Mademoiselle  Elisabeth,  who  became  the  Duchesse  de 
Lorraine,  but  as  to  them  there  was  nothing  said;  either 
they  were  really  wise,  or  else  they  understood  better  than 
their  elders  how  to  restrain  the  sentiments  of  their  hearts, 
or  the  accents  of  passion.  As  soon  as  the  prince  saw  his 
mother  appear,  he  thought  something  new  was  wrong  in 
the  rebellious  troop  of  which  she  had  taken  the  command, 
and  which  gave  her  such  trouble;  but,  as  nothing  could 
make  him  forget  the  respect  which  in  public  and  in 
private  he  paid  to  his  mother,  he  rose  on  seeing  her,  and 
after  having  bowed,  and  taking  her  hand  to  lead  her  to 
a  seat,  he  remained  standing  himself. 

"Well,  my  son,"  said  madame,  with  a  strong  German 
accent,  "  what  is  this  that  I  hear,  and  what  happened  to 
you  last  evening  ?  " 

"  Last  evening  ?  "  said  the  regent,  recalling  his  thoughts 
and  questioning  himself. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  palatine,  "last  evening,  incoming 
home  from  Madame  de  Sabran's." 

"Oh!  it  is  only  that,"  said  the  prince. 

"How,  only  that!  your  friend  Simiane  goes  about  every- 
where saying  that  they  wanted  to  carry  you  off,  and  that 
you  only  escaped  by  coming  across  the  roofs:  a  singular 
road,  you  will  confess,  for  the  regent  of  the  kingdom,  and 
by  which,  however  devoted  they  may  be  to  you,  I  doubt 
your  ministers  being  willing  to  come  to  your  council." 

"Simiane  is  a  fool,  mother,"  answered  the  regent,  not 
able  to  help  laughing  at  his  mother'*  still  scolding  him  as 
if  he  were  a  child;  "it  was  not  anybody  who  wanted  to 
carry  me  away,  but  some  roisterers  who  had  been  drinking 
at  some  cabaret  by  the  Barrière  des  Sergents,  and  who 
were  come  to  make  a  row  in  the  Kue  des  Bons  Enfants. 
As  to  the  road  we  followed,  it  was  for  no  sort  of  flight 
upon  earth  that  I  took  it,  but  simply  to  gain  a  wager 
wliich  that  drunken  Simiane  is  furioMS  at  having  lost." 


THE  CONSUL  DUILIUS.  205 

"My  son,  my  son,"  said  the  palatine,  shaking  her  head, 
"you  will  never  believe  in  danger,  and  yet  you  know  what 
your  enemies  are  capable  of.  Believe  me,  my  child,  those 
who  calumniate  the  soul  would  have  few  scruples  about 
killing  the  body;  and  you  know  that  the  Duchesse  du 
Maine  has  said,  that  the  very  day  when  she  is  quite  sure 
that  there  is  really  nothing  to  be  made  out  of  her  bastard 
of  a  husband,  she  will  demand  an  audience  of  you,  and 
drive  her  dagger  into  your  heart." 

"Bah!  my  mother,"  answered  the  regent,  laughing, 
"have  you  become  a  sufficiently  good  Catholic  no  longer 
to  believe  in  predestination?  I  believe  in  it,  as  you  know. 
Would  you  wish  me  to  plague  my  mind  about  a  danger 
which  has  no  existence?  or  which,  if  it  does  exist,  has  its 
result  already  inscribed  in  the  eternal  book?  No,  my 
mother,  no;  the  only  use  of  all  these  exaggerated  pre- 
cautions is  to  sadden  life.  Let  tyrants  tremble;  but  I, 
who  am  what  St.  Simon  pretends  to  be,  the  most  debo- 
nair man  since  Louis  le  Débonnaire,  what  have  I  to 
fear?" 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu!  nothing,  my  dear  son,"  said  the  pala 
tine,  taking  the  hand  of  the  prince,  and  looking  at  him 
with  as  much  maternal  tenderness  as  her  little  eyes  were 
capable  of  expressing,  — "nothing,  if  every  one  knew  you 
as  well  as  I  do,  and  saw  you  so  truly  good  that  you  cannot 
hate  even  your  enemies;  but  Henry  IV.,  whom  unluckily 
you  resemble  a  little  too  much  on  certain  points,  was  as 
good,  and  that  did  not  prevent  the  existence  of  a  Ravaillac. 
Alas!  mein  Gott,^^  continued  the  princess,  mixing  up 
French  and  German  in  her  agitation,  "it  is  always  the 
best  kings  that  they  do  assassinate;  tyrants  take  precau- 
tions, and  the  poniard  never  reaches  them.  You  must 
never  go  out  without  a  guard;  it  is  you,  and  not  T,  my 
son,  who  require  a  regiment  of  soldiers." 

"My  mother,"  answered  the  regent,  "will  you  listen  to 
a  story?  " 

"Yes,  certainly,  for  you  relate  them  exquisitely." 


206  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Well,  you  know  that  there  was  in  Rome,  I  forget  in 
what  precise  year  of  the  republic,  a  very  brave  consul, 
who  had  the  misfortune,  shared  by  Henry  IV.  and  myself, 
of  going  out  of  a  night.  It  happened  that  this  consul  was 
sent  against  the  Carthaginians,  and,  having  invented  an 
implement  of  war  called  a  crow,  he  gained  the  first  naval 
battle  in  which  the  Romans  had  been  victors,  so  that  when 
he  returned  to  Rome,  congratulating  himself  beforehand, 
no  doubt,  on  the  increase  of  fortune  which  would  follow 
his  increase  of  reputation,  he  was  not  deceived;  all  the 
population  awaited  him  at  the  city  gates,  and  conducted 
him  in  triumph  to  the  Capitol,  where  the  Senate  expected 
him. 

"  The  Senate  announced  to  him  that,  in  reward  for  his 
victory,  they  were  going  to  bestow  on  him  something 
which  must  be  highly  pleasing  to  him,  which  was,  that 
whenever  he  went  out  he  should  be  preceded  by  a  musician, 
who  should  announce  to  every  one,  by  playing  on  the  flute, 
that  he  was  followed  by  the  famous  Duilius,  the  conqueror 
of  the  Carthaginians.  Duilius,  you  will  understand,  my 
mother,  was  at  the  height  of  joy  at  such  an  honour.  He 
returned  home  with  a  proud  bearing,  and  preceded  by  his 
flute-player,  who  played  his  best,  amidst  the  acclamations 
of  the  multitude,  who  cried  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
'Long  live  Duilius!  long  live  the  conqueror  of  the  Cartha- 
ginians! long  live  the  saviour  of  Rome!'  This  was  so 
intoxicating  that  the  poor  consul  nearly  went  crazy  witli 
joy.  Twice  during  the  day  he  went  out,  although  he  had 
nothing  to  do  in  the  town,  only  to  enjoy  the  senatorial 
privilege,  and  to  hear  the  triumphal  music  and  the  cries 
which  accompanied  it.  This  occupation  had  raised  him  by 
the  evening  into  a  state  of  glorification  such  as  it  is  not 
easy  to  explain.  The  evening  came.  The  conqueror  had 
a  mistress  whom  he  loved,  and  whom  he  was  eager  to  see 
again,  —  a  sort  of  Madame  de  Sabran,  with  the  exception 
that  the  husband  thought  proper  to  be  jealous,  while  ours, 
as  you  know,   is  not  so  absurd. 


THE   CONSUL   DUILIUS.  207 

"The  consul  therefore  had  his  bath,  dressed  and  per- 
fumed himself  with  the  greatest  care,  and  when  eleven 
o'clock  arrived  he  set  out  on  tiptoe  for  the  Suburranian 
Koad.  But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host,  or  rather 
without  his  musician.  Hardly  had  he  gone  four  steps 
when  the  flute-player,  who  was  attached  to  his  service  by 
night  as  well  as  day,  darted  from  a  post  on  which  he  was 
seated  and  went  before,  playing  with  all  his  might  and 
main.  The  consequence  of  this  was,  that  those  who  were 
in  the  streets  turned  round,  those  who  were  at  home  came 
to  the  door,  and  those  who  were  in  bed  got  up  and  opened 
their  windows,  all  repeating  in  chorus,  '  Here  is  the  Con- 
sul Duilius;  long  live  Duilius!  long  live  the  conqueror 
of  the  Carthaginians  !  long  live  the  saviour  of  Rome  !  ' 
This  was  highly  flattering,  but  inopportune.  The  consul 
wished  to  silence  his  instrumentalist,  but  he  declared  that 
the  orders  he  had  received  from  the  Senate  were  precise,  — 
not  to  be  quiet  a  minute;  that  he  had  ten  thousand 
sesterces  a  year  to  blow  his  flute,  and  that  blow  he  would 
as  long  as  he  had  any  breath  left. 

"The  consul  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  discuss  with  a 
man  who  had  the  dictate  of  the  Senate  on  his  side,  so  he 
began  to  run,  hoping  to  escape  from  his  melodious  com- 
panion, but  he  copied  his  actions  from  those  of  Duilius 
with  such  exactitude  that  all  the  consul  could  gain  was 
to  get  before  the  flute-player  instead  of  behind  him.  He 
doubled  like  a  hare,  sprang  like  a  roebuck,  rushed  madly 
forward  like  a  wild  boar:  the  cursed  flute-player  did  not 
lose  his  track  for  an  instant,  so  that  all  Rome,  understand- 
ing nothing  about  the  object  of  this  nocturnal  race,  but 
knowing  that  it  was  the  victor  who  performed  it,  came  to 
their  windows,  shouting,  'Long  live  Duilius!  long  live  the 
conqueror  of  the  Carthaginians!  long  live  the  saviour  of 
Rome!  '  The  poor  man  had  one  last  hope;  that  of  finding 
the  people  at  his  mistress'  house  asleep,  and  the  door  half- 
open,  as  she  had  promised  to  leave  it.  But  no;  as  soon  as 
he  arrived  at  that  hospitable  and  gracious  house,  at  whose 


208  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

door  he  had  so  often  poured  perfumes  and  hung  garlands, 
he  found  that  they  were  awake  like  all  the  rest,  and  at  the 
window  he  saw  the  husband,  who  as  soon  as  he  saw  him 
began  to  cry,  'Long  live  Duilius!  long  live  the  conqueror 
of  the  Carthaginians!  long  live  the  saviour  of  Rome!' 
The  hero  returned  home  despairing. 

"The  next  day  he  hoped  to  escape  his  musician;  but 
this  hope  was  fallacious;  and  it  was  the  same  the  day 
after,  and  all  following  days,  so  that  the  consul,  seeing 
that  it  was  impossible  to  keep  his  incognito,  left  for 
Sicily,  where,  out  of  anger,  he  beat  the  Carthaginians 
again;  but  this  time  so  unmercifully,  that  every  one 
thought  that  must  be  the  end  of  all  Punic  wars,  past,  pres- 
ent, or  to  come.  Home  was  so  convulsed  with  joy  that 
it  gave  public  rejoicings  like  those  on  the  anniversary  of 
the  foundation  of  tlie  city,  and  proposed  to  give  the  con- 
queror a  triumph  more  splendid  even  than  the  last.  As 
to  the  Senate,  it  assembled  before  the  arrival  of  Duilius, 
to  determine  what  reward  should  be  conferred  upon  him. 
They  were  all  in  favour  of  a  public  statue,  when  suddenly 
they  heard  shouts  of  triumph  and  the  sound  of  a  flute.  It 
was  the  consul,  who  had  freed  himself  from  the  triumph, 
thanks  to  his  haste,  but  who  could  not  free  himself  from 
public  gratitude,  thanks  to  his  flute-player.  Suspecting 
that  they  were  preparing  something  new,  he  came  to  take 
part  in  the  deliberations.  He  found  the  Senate  ready  to 
vote,  with  their  balls  in  their  hands. 

"He  advanced  to  the  tribune.  'Conscript  fathers,'  said 
he,  'is  it  not  your  intention  to  give  me  a  reward  which 
will  be  agreeable  to  me?'  'Our  intention,'  replied  the 
president,  'is  to  make  you  the  happiest  man  on  earth.' 
'Good,'  said  Duilius;  'will  yoii  allow  me  to  ask  from  you 
that  which  I  desire  most  ?  '  'Speak,'  cried  all  the  senators 
at  once.  'And  you  will  confer  it  on  me?  '  asked  he,  with 
all  the  timidity  of  doubt.  'By  Jupiter  we  will!  '  answered 
the  president  in  the  name  of  the  assembly.  'Then,  coti- 
acript   fathers,'  said   Duilius,   'if  you   think  that   I  have 


THE   CONSUL    DUILTUS.  209 

deserved  well  of  the  country,  tcake  away  from  me,  in 
recompense  for  this  second  victory,  this  cursed  flute- 
player,  whom  you  gave  me  for  the  first.'  The  Senate 
thought  the  request  strange,  but  they  had  pledged  their 
word,  and  at  that  period  people  kept  their  promises.  The 
flute-player  was  allowed  to  retire  on  half-pay,  and  the 
Consul  Duilius,  having  got  rid  of  liis  musician,  recovered 
his  incognito,  and,  without  noise,  found  the  door  of  thav 
little  house  in  the  Suburrauian  lioad,  which  one  victory  had 
closed  against  him,  and  which  another  had  reopened." 

"Well,"  asked  the  palatine,  "what  has  this  story  to  do 
with  the  fear  I  have  of  your  being  assassinated?" 

"What  has  it  to  do  with  it,  my  mother?"  said  the 
prince,  laughing.  "It  is,  that  if,  instead  of  the  one 
musician  which  the  Consul  Duilius  had,  and  which  caused 
him  such  disappointment,  I  had  a  regiment  of  guards,  you 
may  fancy  what  would  happen  to  me." 

"Ah!  Philippe,  Philippe!"  answered  the  princess, 
laughing  and  sighing  at  the  same  time,  "  will  you  always 
treat  serious  matters  so  lightly?  " 

"No,  mother,"  said  the  regent;  "and  the  proof  is  that, 
as  I  presume  you  did  not  come  here  solely  to  read  me  a 
lecture  on  my  nocturnal  courses,  but  to  speak  on  business, 
I  am  ready  to  listen  to  you,  and  to  reply  seriously." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  said  the  princess;  "I  did  come  to 
speak  to  you  of  other  things.  I  came  to  speak  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Chartres." 

"Yes,  of  your  favourite,  mother;  for  it  is  useless  to 
deny  it,  Louise  is  your  favourite.  Can  it  be  because  she 
does  not  love  her  uncles  much,  whom  you  do  not  love 
at  all?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  that,  but  I  confess  it  is  pleasing  to  me  to 
see  that  she  has  no  better  opinion  of  bastards  than  I  have; 
but  it  is  because,  except  as  to  beauty,  which  she  has  and  I 
never  had,  she  is  exactly  what  I  was  at  her  age,  having 
true  boy's  tastes,  loving  dogs,  horses,  and  cavalcades, 
managing  powder  like  an  artilleryman,  and  making  squibs 

14 


210  THE  CHEVALIER  d'harmental. 

like  a  workman.  Well,  guess  what  has  happened  to 
her  ?  " 

"  She  wants  a  commission  in  the  guards  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  she  wants  to  be  a  nun.  " 

"  A  nun,  Louise  !  Impossible  ;  it  must  be  some  joke  of 
her  sisters." 

*•'  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  palatine  ;  "  there  is  no  joke  about 
it,  I  swear  to  you." 

"  How  has  she  got  this  passion  for  the  cloister  ?  "  asked 
the  regent,  beginning  to  believe  in  the  truth  of  what  his 
mother  told  him,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  live  at  a  time 
when  the  most  extravagant  things  were  always  the  most 
probable. 

"Where  did  she  get  it  ?"  replied  madame;  "  why,  from 
the  devil,  I  suppose  ;  I  do  not  know  where  else  she  could 
have  got  it.  The  day  before  yesterday  she  passed  with  her 
sister,  riding,  shooting,  laughing  ;  in  fact,  I  had  never  seen 
her  so  gay  ;  but  this  evening  Madame  d'Orléans  sent  for  me. 
I  found  Mademoiselle  de  Chartres  at  her  mother's  knees,  in 
tears,  and  begging  permission  to  retire  to  the  Abbey  des 
Chelles.  Her  mother  turned  to  me,  and  said,  'What do  you 
think  of  this,  madame  ?  '  'I  think,'  I  replied,  'that  we  can 
perform  our  devotions  equally  well  in  any  place,  and  that 
all  depends  on  our  own  preparations  ;  '  but  hearing  my 
words.  Mademoiselle  de  Chartres  redoubled  her  prayers, 
and  with  so  much  earnestness,  that  I  said  to  her  mother, 
'  It  is  for  you  to  decide,'  '  Oh,'  replied  the  duchess,  '  we 
cannot  prevent  this  poor  child  from  performing  her  devo- 
tions.' *  Let  her  go  then,'  I  replied,  '  and  may  God  grant 
that  she  goes  in  that  intention.'  'I  swear  to  you,  madame,' 
said  Mademoiselle  de  Chartres,  'that  I  go  for  God  alone, 
and  that  I  am  influenced  by  no  worldly  idea.'  Then  she 
embraced  us,  and  yesterday  morning  at  seven  o'clock  she 
set  out." 

"  I  know  all  that,  since  I  was  to  have  taken  her  there," 
replied  the  regent.     "  Has  nothing  happened  since  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  yesterday  evening  she  sent  back  the  carriage,  giv- 


THE   CONSUL   DUILIUS.  211 

ing  the  coachman  a  letter  addressed  to  you,  to  her  mother, 
and  to  me,  in  which  she  says  that,  finding  in  the  cloister 
that  tranquillity  and  peace  which  she  cannot  hope  for  in 
the  world,  she  does  not  wish  to  leave  it." 

"And  what  does  her  mother  say  to  this  resolution?" 

"  Her  mother  ?  "  replied  madame.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  believe  her  mother  is  very  glad,  for  she  likes  convents, 
and  thinks  it  a  great  piece  of  good  luck  to  have  a  daughter 
a  nun  ;  but  I  say  there  is  no  happiness  where  there  is  no 
vocation." 

The  regent  read  and  re-read  the  letter  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Chartres,  trying  to  discover,  by  the  expression  of  her 
desire  to  remain  at  Chelles,  the  secret  causes  which  had 
given  rise  to  it.  Then,  after  an  instant  of  meditation,  as 
deep  as  if  the  fate  of  empires  depended  on  it,  — 

"  There  is  some  love  pique  here,"  said  he  ;  "  do  you  know 
if  Louise  loves  any  one  ?  " 

Madame  told  the  regent  the  adventure  of  the  opera,  and 
the  exclamation  of  the  princess,  in  her  admiration  for  the 
handsome  tenor. 

"Diable!"  cried  the  regent;  "and  what  did  you  and  the 
Duchesse  d'Orléans  do  in  your  maternal  council  ?  " 

"  We  showed  Cauchereau  the  door,  and  forbade  the  opera 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Chartres  ;  we  could  not  do  less." 

"  Well  !  "  replied  the  regent,  "  there  is  no  need  to  seek 
further.     We  must  cure  her  at  once  of  this  fancy." 

"  And  how  will  you  do  that,  my  son  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  to-day  to  the  Abbey  des  Chelles,  and  interro- 
gate Louise.  If  the  thing  is  but  a  caprice,  I  will  give  it 
time  to  pass  off.  I  will  appear  to  adopt  her  views,  and  in 
a  year  hence,  when  she  is  to  take  the  veil,  she  herself  will 
come  and  beg  us  to  free  her  from  the  difficulty  she  has  got 
herself  into.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  thing  is  serious,  then 
it  will  be  different." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  madame,  rising  ;  "  remember  that  poor 
Cauchereau  has  perhaps  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  that  he 
is  even  ignorant  of  the  passion  he  has  inspired." 


212  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  replied  the  prince,  laughing  at  the 
tragic  interpretation  which  the  princess,  with  her  German 
ideas,  had  given  to  his  words.  "  I  shall  not  renew  the 
lamentable  history  of  the  lovers  of  the  Paraclete  ;  Cauche- 
reau's  voice  shall  neither  lose  nor  gain  a  single  note  in  this 
adventure,  and  we  do  not  treat  a  princess  of  the  blood  in 
the  same  manner  as  a  little  bourgeoise." 

"But,  on  the  other  hand,"  said  madame,  almost  as  much 
afraid  of  the  regent's  real  indulgence  as  of  his  apparent 
severity,  "  no  weakness  either." 

"My  mother,"  said  the  regent,  "if  she  must  deceive 
some  one,  I  would  rather  that  it  was  her  husband  than 
God."  And  kissing  his  mother's  hand  respectfully,  he  led 
her  to  the  door,  quite  scandalized  at  those  easy  manners 
among  which  she  died,  without  ever  having  accustomed 
herself  to  them.  Then  the  Due  d'Orléans  returned  to  Iiis 
drawing,  humming  an  air  from  his  opera  of  Porthee, 

In  crossing  the  antechamber,  madame  saw  a  little  man 
in  great  riding  boots  coming  towards  her,  his  head  sunk  in 
the  immense  collar  of  a  coat  lined  with  fur.  When  he 
reached  her  he  poked  out  of  his  surtout  a  little  face  with  a 
pointed  nose,  and  bearing  a  resemblance  at  once  to  a  pole- 
cat and  a  fox. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  palatine,  "  is  it  you,  abbé  ?  " 

"  Myself,  your  highness.  I  have  just  saved  France,  — 
nothing  but  that."  And  bowing  to  madame,  without  wait- 
ing for  her  to  dismiss  him,  as  etiquette  required,  he  turned 
on  his  heel,  and  entered  the  regent's  study  without  being 
announced. 


THE  ABBÉ  DUBOIS.  213 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    ABBÉ    DUBOIS. 

All  the  world  knows  the  commencemeut  of  the  Abbé  Du- 
bois. We  will  not  enlarge  on  the  history  of  his  youth,  which 
may  be  found  in  the  memoirs  of  the  time,  and  particularly 
in  those  of  the  implacable  Saint-Simon.  Dubois  has  not 
been  calumniated,  —  it  was  impossible  ;  but  all  the  evil  has 
been  told  of  him,  and  not  quite  all  the  good. 

There  was  in  his  antecedents,  and  in  those  of  Alberoni, 
his  rival,  a  great  resemblance,  but  the  genius  was  on  the 
side  of  Dubois  ;  and  in  the  long  struggle  with  Spain,  which 
the  nature  of  our  subject  does  not  allow  us  to  do  more  than 
indicate,  all  the  advantage  was  with  the  son  of  the  apothe- 
cary over  the  son  of  the  gardener.  Dubois  preceded  Figaro, 
to  whom  he  probably  served  as  type  ;  but,  more  fortunate 
than  he,  he  passed  from  the  office  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
from  the  drawing-room  to  the  court.  All  these  successive 
advantages  were  the  rewards  of  various  services,  private  or 
public. 

His  last  negotiation  was  his  chef-cVœuvre  ;  it  was  more 
than  the  ratification  of  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  ;  it  was  a  treaty 
more  advantageous  still  for  France.  The  Emperor  not  only 
renounced  all  right  to  the  crown  of  Spain,  as  Philip  V.  had 
renoimced  all  his  to  the  crown  of  France,  but  he  entered 
with  England  and  Holland  into  a  league  formed  at  once 
against  Spain  on  the  south,  and  against  Sweden  and  Russia 
on  the  north.  The  division  of  the  five  or  six  great  states 
of  Europe  was  established  by  this  treaty  on  so  solid  and 
just  a  basis  that,  after  a  hundred  years  of  wars  and  revolu- 
tions, all  these  states,  except  the  Empire,  remain  in  the 
same  situation  that  they  then  were. 


214  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HAKMENTAL. 

On  his  part,  the  regent,  not  very  particular  by  nature, 
loved  this  man,  who  had  educated  him,  and  whose  fortune 
he  had  made.  The  regent  appreciated  in  Dubois  the  talents 
he  had,  and  was  not  too  severe  on  the  vices  from  which  he 
was  not  exempt.  There  was,  however,  between  the  regent 
and  Dubois  an  abyss.  The  regent's  vices  and  virtues  Avere 
those  of  a  gentleman,  Dubois's  those  of  a  lackey.  In  vain 
the  regent  said  to  him,  at  each  new  favour  that  he  granted, 
*' Dubois,  take  care,  it  is  only  a  livery  coat  that  I  am  putting 
on  your  back."  Dubois,  who  cared  about  the  gift,  and  not 
about  the  manner  in  v/hich  it  was  given,  replied,  with  that 
apish  grimace  which  belonged  to  him,  "I  am  your  valet, 
monseigneur,  dress  me  always  the  same." 

Dubois,  however,  loved  the  regent,  and  was  devoted  to 
him.  He  felt  that  this  powerful  hand  alone  had  raised 
him  from  the  sink  in  which  he  had  been  found,  and  to 
which,  hated  and  despised  as  he  was  by  all,  a  sign  from  the 
master  might  restore  him.  He  watched  with  a  personal 
interest  the  hatreds  and  plots  which  might  reach  the  prince; 
and  more  than  once,  by  the  aid  of  a  police  often  better 
managed  than  that  of  the  lieutenant-general,  and  which 
extended,  by  means  of  Madame  de  Tencin,  into  the  highest 
aristocracy,  and,  by  means  of  La  Fillon,  to  the  lowest  grades 
of  society,  he  had  defeated  conspiracies  of  which  Messire 
Voyer  d'Argenson  had  not  even  heard  a  whisper. 

Therefore  the  regent,  who  appreciated  the  services  which 
Dubois  had  rendered  him,  and  could  still  render  him,  received 
the  ambassador  with  open  arms.  As  soon  as  he  saw  him 
appear,  he  rose,  and,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  most 
princes,  who  depreciate  the  service  in  order  to  diminish  the 
reward,  — 

"Dubois,"  said  he,  joyously,  "you  are  my  best  friend, 
and  the  treaty  of  the  quadruple  alliance  will  be  more 
profitable  to  King  Louis  XV.  than  all  the  victories  of  his 
ancestor,  Louis  XIV." 

" Bravo  !  "  said  Dubois  ;  "you  do  me  justice,  monseigneur, 
but,  unluckily,  every  one  is  not  equally  grateful." 


THE   ABBÉ   DUBOIS.  215 

"Ah  !  ah  !  "  said  the  regent,  "have  you  met  my  mother  ? 
She  has  just  left  the  room." 

"  And  how  is  his  Majesty  ?  "  asked  Dubois,  with  a  smile 
full  of  a  detestable  hope.  "  He  was  very  poorly  when 
I  left." 

"Well,  abbé,  very  well,"  answered  the  prince,  gravely. 
"  God  will  preserve  him  to  us,  I  hojje,  for  the  happiness  of 
France,  and  the  shame  of  our  calumniators." 

"And  monseigneur  sees  him  every  day  as  usual  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  I  even  spoke  to  him  of  you." 

"  Bah  !  and  what  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  that  in  all  probability  you  had  just  secured 
the  tranquillity  of  his  reign," 

"  And  what  did  the  king  answer  ?  " 

"  What  did  he  answer  !  He  answered,  my  friend,  that  he 
did  not  think  abbés  were  so  useful." 

"  His  Majesty  is  very  witty  ;  and  old  Villeroy  was  there, 
without  doubt  ?  " 

"  As  he  always  is." 

"  With  your  permission,  I  must  send  that  old  fellow  to 
look  for  me  at  the  other  end  of  France  some  fine  morning. 
His  insolence  to  you  begins  to  tire  my  patience.'' 

''  Leave  him  alone,  Dubois,  leave  him  alone  j  everything 
will  come  in  time." 

"  Even  my  archbishopric." 

"  Ha  !  what  is  this  new  folly  ?  " 

"  New  folly,  monseigneur  !  on  my  honour  nothing  can  be 
more  serious." 

"  Oh  !  this  letter  from  the  King  of  England,  which  asks 
me  for  an  archbishopric  for  you —  " 

"  Did  your  highness  not  recognise  the  style  ?  " 

"  You  dictated  it,  you  rascal  !  " 

"  To  Néricault  Destouches,  who  got  the  king  to  sign  it." 

"  And  the  king  signed  it  as  it  is,  without  saying  any- 
thing ?  " 

"  Exactly.  'You  wish,'  said  he  to  our  poet,  Hhat  a  Prot- 
estant prince  should  interfere  to  make  an  archbishop  in 


216  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

France.  The  regent  will  read  my  recommendation,  will 
laugh  at  it,  and  pay  no  attention  to  it.'  *  Yes,  yes,  sire,' 
replied  Destouches,  who  has  more  wit  than  he  puts  into  his 
verses,  'the  regent  will  laugh  at  it,  but  after  all  will  do 
what  your  Majesty  asks.'" 

"Destouches  lied." 

"  Destouches  never  spoke  more  truly,  monseigneur." 

"  You  an  archbisliop  !  King  George  would  deserve  that, 
in  return,  I  should  point  out  to  him  some  rascal  like  you 
for  the  archbishopric  of  York  when  it  becomes  vacant." 

"I  defy  you  to  find  my  equal,  —  I  know  but  one  man." 

"And  who  is  he  ?     I  should  like  to  know  him." 

"  Oh,  it  is  useless  ;  he  is  already  placed  ;  and,  as  his  place 
is  good,  he  would  not  change  it  for  all  the  archbishoprics 
in  the  world." 

"  Insolent  !  " 

"  With  whom  are  you  angry,  monseigneur  ?  " 

"  With  a  fellow  who  wants  to  be  an  archbishop,  and  who 
has  never  yet  officiated  at  the  communion  table." 

"  I  shall  be  all  the  better  prepared." 

"But  the  archdeaconship,  the  deaconship,  the  priest- 
hood." 

"  Bah  !  We  will  find  somebody  ;  some  second  Jean  des 
Entom cures,  who  will  despatch  all  that  in  an  hour." 

"  I  defy  you  to  find  him." 

"  It  is  already  done." 

"  And  who  is  that  ?  " 

"Your  first  almoner,  the  Bishop  of  Nantes,  Tressan." 

"The  fellow  has  an  answer  for  everything.  But  your 
marriage  ?  " 

"  My  marriage  !  " 

"Yes,  Madame  Dubois." 

"  Madame  Dubois  !     Who  is  that  ?  " 

"  What,  fellow,  have  you  assassinated  her  ?  " 

"  Monseigneur  forgets  that  it  is  only  three  days  since  he 
gave  her  her  quarter's  pension." 

"  And  if  she  should  oppose  your  archbishopric  ?  " 


THE   ABBÉ   DUBOIS.  217 

"  I  defy  her  ;  she  has  no  proofs." 

"  She  may  get  a  copy  of  the  marriage  certificate." 

"  There  is  no  copy  without  an  original." 

"  And  the  original  ?  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Dubois,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a 
little  paper,  containing  a  pinch  of  ashes. 

*'  What  !  and  are  you  not  afraid  that  I  shall  send  you  to 
the  galleys  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  to  do  so,  now  is  the  time,  for  I  hear  the 
lieutenant  of  police  speaking  in  the  antechamber." 

"  Who  sent  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  find  fault  with  him." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  You  will  hear.  It  is  understood  then,  —  I  am  an  arch- 
bishop." 

"  And  have  you  already  chosen  your  archbishopric  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  take  Cambray." 

^^ Peste!  you  are  not  modest." 

"  Oh,  moil  Dieu  !  it  is  not  for  the  profit,  it  is  for  the 
honour  of  succeeding  Fénélon." 

"  Shall  we  have  a  new  Telemachus  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  your  highness  will  find  me  a  Penelope  in  the 
kingdom." 

"  Apropos  of  Penelope,  you  know  that  Madame  de 
Sabran  —  " 

"  I  know  all." 

"  Ah,  abbé  ;  your  police,  then,  is  as  good  as  ever  !  " 

"You  shall  judge." 

Dubois  stretched  out  his  hand,  rang  the  bell,  and  a  mes- 
senger appeared. 

"  Send  the  lieutenant-general,"  said  Dubois. 

"  But,  abbé,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  you  who  give  orders 
here  now." 

"  It  is  for  your  good,  monseigneur.     Let  me  do  it." 

"Well,  well!"  said  the  regent,  "one  must  be  indulgent 
to  new-comers." 


218  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HAKMENTAL. 

Messire  Voyer  d'Argenson  entered;  he  was  as  ugly  aa 
Dubois,  but  his  ugliness  was  of  a  very  different  kind.  lie 
was  tall,  thick,  and  heavy,  wore  an  immense  wig,  had  great 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  was  invariably  taken  for  the  devil  by 
children  who  saw  him  for  the  lirst  time.  But  with  all  this, 
he  was  supple,  active,  skilful,  intriguing,  and  fulfilled  his 
office  conscientiously,  when  he  was  not  turned  from  his 
nocturnal  duties  by  other  occupations. 

"  Messire  d'Argenson."  said  Dubois,  without  even  leaving 
the  lieutenant-general  time  to  finish  his  bow,  "  monseigneur, 
who  has  no  secrets  from  me,  has  sent  for  you,  that  you  may 
tell  me  in  what  costume  he  went  out  last  night,  in  whose 
house  he  passed  the  evening,  and  what  happened  to  him  on 
leaving  it.  I  should  not  need  to  ask  these  questions  if  I 
had  not  just  arrived  from  London  ;  you  understand  that,  as 
I  travelled  post  from  Calais,  I  can  know  nothing  of  them." 

"  But,"  said  D'Argenson,  who  thought  these  questions 
concealed  some  snare,  "  did  anything  extraordinary  happen 
last  evening  ?  I  confess  I  received  no  report  ;  I  hope  no 
accident  happened  to  monseigneur  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  none  ;  only  monseigneur,  who  went  out  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  as  a  French  guard  to  sup  with 
Madame  de  Sabran,  was  nearly  carried  off  on  leaving  her 
house." 

"  Carried  off  !  "  cried  D'Argenson,  turning  pale,  while  the 
regent  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of  astonishment,  "  carried 
off  !  and  by  whom  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Dubois,  "  that  is  what  we  do  not  know,  and 
what  you  ought  to  know,  Messire  d'Argenson,  if  you  had 
not  passed  your  time  at  the  convent  of  the  Madeleine  de 
ïraisnel." 

"  What,  D'Argenson  !  you,  a  great  magistrate,  give  such 
an  example  !  "  said  the  regent,  laughing.  "  Never  mind,  I 
will  receive  you  well,  if  you  come,  as  you  have  already  done 
in  the  time  of  the  late  king,  to  bring  me,  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  a  journal  of  my  acts." 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  the  lieutenant,  stammering,  "  I  hope 


THE    ABBÉ    DUBOIS.  219 

your  highness  does  not  believe  a  word  of  what  the  Abbé 
Dubois  says." 

"  What  !  instead  of  being  humiliated  by  your  ignorance, 
you  give  me  the  lie.  Monseigneur,  I  will  take  you  to 
D'Argenson's  seraglio  ;  an  abbess  of  twenty-six,  and  novices 
of  fifteen  ;  a  boudoir  in  India  chintz,  and  cells  hung  with 
tapestry.  Oh,  Monsieur  le  Lieutenant  de  Police  knows 
how  to  do  things  well." 

The  regent  held  his  sides  with  laughing,  seeing  D'Argen- 
son's disturbed  face. 

"But,"  replied  the  lieutenant  of  police,  trying  to  bring 
back  the  conversation  to  the  less  disagreeable,  though  more 
humiliating  subject,  *'  there  is  not  much  merit,  abbé,  in  your 
knowing  the  details  of  an  event  which  doubtless  mon- 
seigneur himself  told  you." 

"  On  my  honour,"  said  the  regent,  "  I  did  not  tell  him  a 
single  word." 

"  Listen,  lieutenant  ;  is  it  monseigneur  also  who  told  me 
the  story  of  the  novice  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau, 
whom  you  so  nearly  carried  off  over  the  convent  walls  ?  Is 
it  monseigneur  who  told  me  of  that  house  which  you  have 
had  built  under  a  false  name,  against  the  wall  of  the  con- 
vent of  the  Madeleine,  so  that  you  can  enter  at  all  hours 
by  a  door  hidden  in  a  closet,  and  which  opens  on  to  the  sac- 
risty of  the  chapel  of  Saint  Mark,  j^our  patron  ?  No,  no, 
all  that,  my  dear  lieutenant,  is  the  infancy  of  the  art,  and 
he  who  only  knew  this  would  not,  I  hope,  be  worthy  to  hold 
a  candle  to  you." 

"Listen,  abbé,"  replied  the  lieutenant  of  police,  with  a 
grave  air,  "  if  all  you  have  told  me  about  monseigneur  is 
true,  the  thing  is  serious,  and  I  am  in  the  wrong  not  to 
know  it,  if  any  one  does  ;  but  there  is  no  time  lost.  We 
will  find  the  culprits  and  punish  them  as  they  deserve." 

"  But,"  said  the  regent,  "you  must  not  attach  too  much 
importance  to  this  ;  they  were,  probably,  some  drunken 
ofificers  who  wished  to  amuse  their  companions." 

"  It  is  a  conspiracy,  monseigneur,"  replied  Dubois,  "  which. 


220  THE   CHEVALIER   D'H  ARMENT  AL. 

emanates  from  the  Spanish  embassy,  passing  through  the 
Arsenal  before  it  arrives  at  the  Palais  Royal." 

"  Again,  Dubois  ?  " 

"  Always,  monseigneur." 

"And  you,  D'Argenson,  what  is  your  opinion?" 

"  That  your  enemies  are  capable  of  anything,  monseigneur; 
out  that  we  will  mar  their  plots,  whatever  they  may  be,  I 
give  you  my  word." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  Due  du  Maine 
was  announced,  who  came  to  attend  the  council,  and  whose 
privilege  it  was,  as  prince  of  the  blood,  not  to  be  kept  wait- 
ing. He  advanced  with  that  timid  and  uneasy  air  which 
was  natural  to  him,  casting  a  side  glance  over  the  three 
persons  in  whose  presence  he  found  himself,  as  though  to 
discover  what  subject  occupied  them  at  his  entrance.  The 
regent  understood  his  thought. 

"  Welcome,  my  cousin,"  said  he  ;  "  these  two  bad  fel- 
lows —  whom  you  know  —  have  just  been  assuring  me  that 
you  are  conspiring  against  me." 

The  Due  du  Maine  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  was 
obliged  to  lean  for  support  on  the  crutch-shaped  stick  which 
he  carried. 

"  And  I  hope,  monseigneur,"  replied  he,  in  a  voice  which 
he  vainly  endeavoured  to  render  firm,  "that  you  did  not 
give  ear  to  such  a  calumny." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  no  !  "  replied  the  regent  negligently  ; 
"  but  they  are  obstinate,  and  declare  that  they  will  take  you 
one  day  in  the  fact.  I  do  not  believe  it,  but  at  any  rate  I 
give  you  warning  ;  be  on  your  guard  against  them,  for  they 
are  clever  fellows,  I  warrant  you." 

The  Due  du  Maine  opened  his  mouth  to  give  some  con- 
temptible excuse,  when  the  door  opened  again,  and  the 
groom  announced  successively  the  Due  de  Bourbon,  the 
Prince  de  Conti,  the  Due  de  St.  Simon,  the  Due  de  Guiche, 
captain  of  the  guards,  the  Due  de  Noailles,  president  of  the 
council  of  finance,  the  Due  d'Antin,  superintendent  of 
ships,  the  Maréchal  d'Uxelles,  president  of  the  council  of 


THE   ABBÉ   DUBOIS.  221 

foreign  affairs  ;  the  Archbishop  of  Troyes  ;  the  Marquis  de 
Lavrillière  ;  the  Marquis  d'Effiat  ;  the  Due  de  Laforce  ;  the 
Marquis  de  Torcy  ;  and  the  Maréchaux  de  Villeroy,  d'Estrées, 
de  Villars,  and  de  Bezons. 

As  these  grave  personages  were  gathered  together  to 
deliberate  upon  the  treaty  of  the  quadruple  alliance,  brought 
from  London  by  Dubois,  and  as  the  treaty  of  the  quadruple 
alliance  only  figures  secondarily  in  this  history,  our  readers 
will  excuse  our  leaving  the  sumptuous  reception-room  in  the 
Palais  Royal,  to  lead  them  back  to  the  attic  in  the  Rue  du 
Temps  Perdu. 


222  THE  CHEVALIER  D'UARiMENTàL. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE   CONSPIRACY. 


D'Harmental,  after  having  placed  his  hat  and  cloak  on 
a  chair,  after  having  placed  his  pistols  on  his  table  and 
his  sword  under  his  pillow,  threw  himself  dressed  on  to 
his  bed,  and,  more  happy  than  Damocles,  he  slept,  though, 
like  Damocles,  a  sword  hung  over  his  head  by  a  thread. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight,  and,  as  the  even- 
ing before  he  had  forgotten  to  close  his  shutters,  the  first 
thing  he  saw  was  a  ray  of  sunshine  playing  joyously  across 
his  room.  D'Harmental  thought  that  he  had  been  dream- 
ing when  he  found  himself  again  calm  and  tranquil  in  his 
little  room,  so  neat  and  clean,  whilst  he  might  have  been 
at  that  hour  in  some  gloomy  and  sombre  prison.  For  a 
moment  he  doubted  of  its  reality,  remembering  all  that 
had  passed  the  evening  before  ;  but  all  was  there,  —  the  red 
ribbon,  the  hat  and  cloak  on  the  chair,  the  pistols  on  the 
table,  and  the  sword  under  the  pillow  ;  and,  as  a  last  proof, 
he  himself  in  the  costume  of  the  day  before,  which  he  had 
not  taken  off  for  fear  of  being  surprised  by  some  nocturnal 
visit. 

D'Harmental  jumped  from  his  bed.  His  first  look  was 
for  his  neighbour's  window:  it  was  already  open,  and  he 
saw  Bathilde  passing  and  repassing  in  her  room;  the 
second  was  for  his  glass,  which  told  him  that  conspiracies 
suited  him.  Indeed,  his  face  was  paler  than  usual,  and 
therefore  more  interesting j  his  eyes  were  rather  feverish, 
and  therefore  more  expressive:  so  that  it  was  evident  that, 
when  he  had  smoothed  his  hair  and  arranged  his  collar  and 
cravat,  he  would  be  a  most  interesting  person  to  Bathilde. 
D'Harmental  did   not  say  this,  even  to  himself;  but  the 


THE  CONSPIRACY.  223 

b;iil  instinct  which  always  impels  our  poor  souls  to  evil 
whispered  these  thoughts  to  him,  so  that  when  he  went  to 
his  toilet  he  suited  his  dress  to  the  expression  of  his  face; 
that  is  to  say,  that  he  dressed  entirely  in  black,  that  his 
hair  was  arranged  with  a  charming  negligence,  and  that 
he  left  his  waistcoat  more  than  usually  open,  to  give  place 
to  his  shirt-frill,  which  fell  with  an  ease  full  of  coquetry. 
All  this  was  done  in  the  most  preoccupied  and  careless 
manner  in  the  world;  for  D'Harmental,  brave  as  he  was, 
could  not  help  remembering  that  at  any  minute  he  might 
be  arrested  ;  but  it  was  by  instinct  that,  when  the  chevalier 
gave  the  last  look  in  the  glass,  before  leaving  his  little 
dressing-room,  he  smiled  at  himself  with  a  melancholy 
which  doubled  the  charm  of  his  countenance.  There  was 
no  mistake  as  to  the  meaning  of  this  smile,  for  he  went 
directly  to  the  window. 

Perhaps  Bathilde  had  also  her  projects  for  the  moment 
when  her  neighbour  should  reappear,  perhaps  she  had 
arranged  a  defence  which  should  consist  in  not  looking 
towards  him,  or  in  closing  her  window  after  a  simple 
recognition;  but  at  the  noise  her  neighbour's  window 
made  in  opening,  all  was  forgotten,  and  she  ran  to  the 
window,  crying  out,  — 

"  Ah  !  there  you  are.  Mon  Dieu  !  monsieur,  how  anx- 
ious you  have  made  me!  " 

This  exclamation  was  ten  times  more  than  D'Harmental 
had  hoped  for.  If  he,  on  his  part,  had  prepared  some 
well-turned  and  eloquent  phrases,  they  were  all  forgotten, 
and,  clasping  his  hands,  — 

"  Bathilde  !  Bathilde  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  are,  then,  as  good 
as  you  are  beautiful." 

"Why  good?"  asked  Bathilde.  "Did  you  not  tell  me 
that,  if  I  was  an  orphan,  you  also  were  without  parents? 
Did  you  not  say  that  I  was  your  sister,  and  you  were  my 
brother?" 

"Then,  Bathilde,  you  prayed  for  me?" 

"All  night,"  replied  the  young  girl,  blushing. 


224  THE    CHEVALIER    D'uAKMENTAL. 

"And  T  thanked  chance  for  having  saved  me,  when  I 
owed  all  to  an  angel's  prayers  i  " 

"The  danger  is  then  past?"  cried  Bathilde. 

"The  night  was  dark  and  gloomy,"  replied  D'Harmental. 
"This  morning,  however,  1  was  awakened  by  a  ray  of 
sunshine  which  a  cloud  may  again  conceal;  so  it  is  with 
the  danger  I  have  run;  it  has  passed  to  give  place  to  a 
great  happiness,  —  that  of  knowing  you  have  thought  of 
me,  — yet  it  may  return.  But  stay,"  continued  he,  hear- 
ing steps  on  the  staircase,  "  there  it  is,  perhaps,  approaching 
my  door." 

As  he  spoke,  some  one  knocked  three  times  at  the  chev- 
alier's door. 

"Who  is  there  ?"  asked  D'Harmental  from  the  window, 
in  a  voice  which,  in  spite  of  all  his  firmness,  betrayed 
some  emotion. 

"A.  friend,"  answered  a  voice. 

"Well?"  asked  Bathilde,  with  anxiety. 

"Thanks  to  you,  God  still  continues  to  protect  me:  it 
is  a  friend  who  knocks.  Once  again,  thanks,  Bathilde." 
And  the  chevalier  closed  his  window,  sending  the  young 
girl  a  last  salute  which  was  very  like  a  kiss;  then  he 
opened  to  the  Abbé  Brigand,  who,  beginning  to  be  impa- 
tient, had  knocked  a  second  time. 

"Well,"  said  the  abbé,  on  whose  face  it  was  impossible 
to  see  the  smallest  change,  "what  has  happened,  then,  my 
dear  pupil,  that  you  are  shut  in  thus  by  bolts  and  bars? 
Is  it  as  a  foretaste  of  the  Bastille  ?  " 

"Hola,  abbé  !"  said  D'Harmental,  in  a  cheerful  voice, 
"no  such  jokes,  I  beg;  they  might  bring  misfortune." 

"But  look!  look  !  "  said  Brigaud,  throwing  his  eyes  round 
him,  "would  not  any  one  suppose  they  were  visiting  a 
conspirator?  Pistols  on  the  table,  a  sword  on  the  pillow, 
and  a  hat  and  cloak  on  the  chair.  Ah!  my  dear  pupil, 
you  are  discomposed,  it  appears  to  me.  Come,  put  all  this 
in  order,  that  I  may  not  be  able  to  perceive,  when  I  pay 
my  paternal  visit,  what  passes  during  my  absence." 


THE   CONSPIRACY.  225 

D'Harmental  obeyed,  admiring  in  this  man  of  the 
Church  the  sang-froid  which  he  himself  found  it  difiicult 
to   attain. 

"Very  good,"  said  Brigand,  watching  him,  "and  this 
shoulder-knot  which  you  have  forgotten,  and  which  was 
never  made  for  you  (for  it  dates  from  the  time  when  you 
were  in  jackets),  put  it  away  too.  Who  knows?  —  you  may 
want  it." 

"And  what  for,  abbé?"  asked  D'Harmental,  laughing; 
"to  attend  the  regent's  levée  in?" 

"Oh,  no,  but  for  a  signal  to  some  good  fellow  who  is 
passing;  come,   put  it  away." 

"My  dear  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  "if  you  are  not  the 
devil  in  person,  you  are  at  least  one  of  his  most  intimate 
acquaintances." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  am  a  poor  fellow  who  goes  his  own  quiet 
way,  and  who,  as  he  goes,  looks  liigh  and  low,  right  and 
left,  that  is  all.  Look,  there  is  a  ray  of  spring,  the  first, 
which  knocks  humbly  at  your  window,  and  you  do  not 
open  it;  one  would  suppose  you  were  afraid  of  being  seen. 
Ah,  pardon!  I  did  not  know  that,  when  your  window 
opened,  another  must  close." 

"My  dear  abbé,  you  are  full  of  wit,"  replied  D'Har- 
mental, "but  terribly  indiscreet;  so  much  so,  that,  if  you 
were  a  musketeer  instead  of  an  abbé,  I  should  quarrel  with 
you." 

"And  why?  Because  I  wish  to  open  you  a  path  to 
glory,  fortune,  and  perhaps  love?  It  would  be  monstrous 
ingratitude." 

"Well,  let  us  be  friends,  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental, 
offering  his  hand,  "and  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  have  some 
news." 

"Of  what?  *' 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Of  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  where 
there  has  been  a  great  deal  going  on,  I  believe;  of  the 
Arsenal,  where,  I  believe,  Madame  du  Maine  has  given 
ft  soirée  ;  and  even  of  the  regent,  who,  if  I  may  believe  a 

15 


226  THE   CHEVALIER   D'hARMENTAL. 

dream  I  had,  came  back  to  the  Palais  Royal  very  late  and 
rather  agitated." 

"  All  lias  gone  well.  The  noise  of  the  Rue  des  Bons 
Enfants,  if  there  were  any,  is  quite  calm  this  morning; 
Madame  du  Maine  has  as  much  gratitude  for  those  whom 
important  affairs  kept  away  from  the  Arsenal  as  she  has 
contempt  for  those  who  were  there;  finally,  the  regent, 
dreaming  last  night,  as  usual,  that  he  was  King  of  France, 
has  already  forgotten  that  he  was  nearly  the  prisoner  of 
the  King  of  Spain.     Now  we  must  begin  again." 

"Ah,  pardon,  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental;  "but,  with  your 
permission,  it  is  the  turn  of  the  others.  I  shall  not  be 
sorry  to  rest  a  little,   myself." 

"Ah,  that  goes  badly  with  the  news  I  bring  you." 

"  What  news  ?  " 

"It  was  decided  last  night  that  you  should  leave  for 
Brittany  this  morning." 

"For  Brittany!  —  and  what  to  do  there?" 

"You  will  know  when  you  are  there." 

"And  if  I  do  not  wish  to  go  ? " 

"You  will  reflect,  and  go  just  the  same." 

"  And  on  what  shall  I  reflect  ?  " 

"  That  it  would  be  the  act  of  a  madman  to  interrupt  an 
enterprise  near  its  end  for  a  love  only  at  its  beginning. 
To  abandon  the  interests  of  a  princess  of  the  blood  to  gain 
the  good  graces  of  a  grisette." 

"Abbé!"  said  D'Harmental. 

"Oh,  we  must  not  get  angry,  my  dear  chevalier;  we 
must  reason!  You  engaged  voluntarily  in  the  affair  we 
have  in  hand,  and  you  promised  to  aid  us  in  it.  Would 
it  be  loyal  to  abandon  us  now  for  a  repulse  ?  No,  no,  my 
dear  pupil  ;  you  must  have  a  little  more  connection  in  your 
ideas  if  you  mix  in  a  conspiracy." 

"It  is  just  because  I  have  connection  in  my  ideas," 
replied  D'Harmental,  "that  this  time,  as  at  first,  before 
undertaking  anything  new,  I  wish  to  know  what  it  is.  I 
offered  myself  to  be  the  arm,  it  is  true  ;  but,  before  strik- 


THE   CONSPIRACY.  227 

Ing,  the  arm  must  know  what  the  head  has  decided.  I 
risk  my  liberty,  I  risk  my  life.  I  risk  something  per- 
haps dearer  to  me  still.  I  will  risk  all  this  in  my  own 
manner,  with  my  eyes  open,  and  not  closed.  Tell  me 
first  what  I  am  to  do  in  Brittany,  and  then  perhaps  I 
will  go  there." 

"  Your  orders  are  that  you  should  go  to  Rennes.  There 
you  will  unseal  this  letter,  and  find  your  instructions." 

"  My  orders  !  my  instructions  !  " 

"Are  not  these  the  terms  which  a  general  uses  to  his 
officers  ?  And  are  they  in  the  habit  of  disputing  the 
commands  they  receive  ?  " 

"Not  when  they  are  in  the  service;  but  you  know  I  am 
in  it  no  longer." 

"It  is  true.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  you  had  re- 
entered it." 

"  I  !  " 

"Yes,  you.  I  have  your  brevet  in  my  pocket."  And 
Brigand  drew  from  his  pocket  a  parchment,  which  he  pre- 
sented to  D'Harmental,  who  unfolded  it  slowly,  question- 
ing Brigand  with  his  looks. 

"A  brevet!"  cried  the  chevalier;  "a  brevet  as  colonel 
in  one  of  the  four  regiments  of  carabineers!  Whence 
comes  this  brevet  ?  " 

"Look  at  the  signature." 

"Louis- Auguste,  Duc  du  Maine!  " 

"Well,  what  is  there  astonishing  in  that?  As  grand 
master  of  artillery,  he  has  the  nomination  of  twelve  regi' 
ments.  He  gives  you  one  to  replace  that  which  was  taken 
from  you,  and,  as  your  general,  he  sends  you  on  a  mission. 
Is  it  customary  for  soldiers  in  such  a  case  to  refuse  the 
honour  their  chief  does  them  in  thinking  of  them  ?  I  am  a 
churchman,  and  do  not  know." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  abbé.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  the  duty 
of  every  officer  of  the  king  to  obey  his  chief." 

"Besides  which,"  replied  Brigand,  negligently,  "in  case 
the  conspiracy  failed,  you  would  only  have  obeyed  orders, 


228  THE    CIIEVALIEU   d'iIAUxMENTAL. 

and  might  throw  the  whole  responsibility  of  your  actions 
on  another." 

"Abbé!  "  cried  D'llarmental  a  second  time. 

"Well,  if  you  do  not  go,  I  shall  make  you  feel  the 
spur." 

"Yes,  I  am  going.  Excuse  me,  but  there  are  some 
moments  when  I  am  half  mad.  I  am  now  at  the  orders  of 
Monsieur  du  Maine,  or,  rather,  at  those  of  Madame.  May 
I  not  see  her  before  I  go,  to  fall  at  her  feet,  and  tell  her 
that  I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  my  life  at  a  word  from  her." 

"There,  now,  you  are  going  in  to  the  opposite  extreme; 
but  no,  you  must  not  die;  you  must  live,  — live  to  triumph 
over  our  enemies,  and  wear  a  beautiful  uniform,  with 
which  you  will  turn  all  the  women's  heads." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Brigaud,  there  is  but  one  I  wish  to 
please  " 

"Well,  you  shall  please  her  first,  and  the  others  after- 
wards." 

"When  must  I  go?" 

"This  instant." 

"  You  will  give  me  half  an  hour  ?" 

"Not  a  second." 

"But  I  have  not  breakfasted." 

"You  shall  come  and  breakfast  with  me." 

"I  have  only  two  or  three  thousand  francs  here,  and 
that  is  not  enough." 

"You  will  find  a  year's  pay  in  your  carriage." 

"  And  clothes  ?  " 

"  Your  trunks  are  full.  Had  I  not  your  measure  ?  You 
will  not  be  discontented  with  my  tailor." 

"But  at  least,  abbé,  tell  me  when  I  may  return." 

"In  six  weeks  to  a  day,  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  will 
expect  you  at  Sceaux." 

"But  at  least  you  will  permit  me  to  write  a  couple  of 
lines." 

"Well,  I  will  not  be  too  exacting." 

The  chevalier  sat  down  and  wrote  :  — 


THE   CONSPIRACY.  229 

Dear  Bathilde,  —  To-day  it  is  more  than  a  danger  which 
threatens  me  ;  it  is  a  misfortune  which  overtakes  me.  I  am  force(\ 
to  leave  this  instant,  without  seeing  you,  without  bidding  you  adieu, 
I  shall  be  six  weeks  absent.  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  Bathilde,  do 
not  forget  him  who  will  not  pass  an  hour  without  thinking  of  you. 

Raoul. 

This  letter  written,  folded,  and  sealed,  the  chevalier  rose 
and  went  to  the  window  ;  but,  as  we  have  said,  that  of  his 
neighbour  was  closed  when  Brigaud  appeared.  There  was 
then  no  means  of  sending  to  Bathilde  the  despatch  destined 
for  her.  D'Harmental  made  an  impatient  gesture.  At 
this  moment  they  heard  a  scratching  at  the  door.  The 
abbé  opened  it,  and  Mirza  appeared,  guided  by  her  instinct 
and  her  greediness,  to  the  giver  of  the  bon-bons,  and 
making  live  demonstrations  of  joy. 

"Well,"  said  Brigaud,  "who  shall  say  God  is  not  good 
to  lovers  ?     You  wanted  a  messenger,  and  here  is  one." 

"Abbé,  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  shaking  his  head,  "do 
not  enter  into  my  secrets  before  I  wish  it." 

"Oh,"  replied  Brigaud,  "a  confessor,  you  know,  is  an 
abyss." 

"  Then  not  a  word  will  pass  your  lips  ?  " 

"On  my  honour,  chevalier." 

D'Harmental  tied  the  letter  to  Mirza's  neck,  gave  her  a 
piece  of  sugar  as  a  reward  for  the  commission  she  was 
about  to  accomplish;  and,  half  sad  at  having  lost  his 
beautiful  neighbour  for  six  weeks,  half  glad  at  having 
regained  for  ever  his  beautiful  uniform,  he  took  his  money, 
put  his  pistols  into  his  pockets,  fastened  on  his  sword, 
took  his  hat  and  cloak,  and  followed  the  Abbé  Brigaud. 


230  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HAKMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    ORDER    OF    THE    HONEY-BEE. 

At  the  appointed  day  and  hour,  that  is  to  say,  six  weeks 
after  his  departure  from  the  capital,  and  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  D'Harmental,  returning  from  Brittany, 
entered  the  court-yard  of  the  Palace  of  Sceaux,  with  his 
post  horses  going  at  full  gallop.  Servants  in  full  livery 
waited  on  the  door-step,  and  everything  announced  prep- 
arations for  a  fête.  D'Harmental  entered,  crossed  the 
hall,  and  found  himself  in  a  large  room,  where  about 
twenty  people  were  assembled,  standing  in  groups  talking, 
whilst  waiting  for  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

There  were,  amongst  others,  the  Comte  de  Laval,  the 
Marquis  de  Pompadour,  the  poet  St.  Genest,  the  old  Abbé 
Chaulieu,  St.  Aulaire,  Madame  de  Rohan,  Madame  de 
Croissy,  Madame  de  Charost,  and  Madame  de  Brissac. 

D'Harmental  went  straight  to  the  Marquis  de  Pompa- 
dour, the  one  out  of  all  this  noble  and  intelligent  society 
with  whom  he  was  best  acquainted.  They  shook  hands. 
Then  D'Harmental,  drawing  him  aside,  said, — 

"  My  dear  marquis,  can  you  tell  me  how  it  is  that  where 
I  expected  to  find  only  a  dull  political  assembly  I  find 
preparations  for  a  fete  ?  " 

^^ Ma  foi!  I  do  not  know,  my  dear  chevalier,"  replied 
Pompadour,  "  and  I  am  as  astonished  as  you  are.  I  have 
just  returned  from  Normandy  myself." 

"  Ah  !  you  also  have  just  arrived  ?  " 

"  This  instant  I  asked  the  same  question  of  Laval,  but 
he  has  just  arrived  from  Switzerland,  and  knows  no  more 
than  we  do." 

At  this  moment  the  Baron  de  Valef  was  announced. 


THE  ORDER  OF  THE  HONEY-BEE.  231 

"Ah,  pardieu!  now  we  shall  know,"  continued  Pompa- 
dour. "  Valef  is  so  intimate  with  the  duchess  he  will  be 
able  to  tell  us." 

Valef,  recognising  them,  came  towards  them. 

D'Harmental  and  Valef  had  not  seen  each  other  since 
the  day  of  the  duel  with  which  this  history  opened,  so 
that  they  met  with  pleasure;  then,  after  exchanging 
compliments,  — 

"My  dear  Valef,"  said  D'Harmental,  "can  you  tell  me 
what  is  the  meaning  of  this  great  assembly,  when  I 
expected  to  find  only  a  select  committee  ?  " 

''^  Ma  foi!  I  do  not  know  anything  of  it,"  said  Valef,  "I 
have  just  come  from  Madrid." 

"Every  one  has  just  arrived  from  somewhere,"  said 
Pompadour,  laughing.  "  Ah  !  here  is  Malezieux,  I  hope 
he  lias  been  no  farther  than  Dombes  or  Chatenay;  and  as 
at  any  rate  he  has  certainly  passed  through  Madame  du 
Maine's  room  we  shall  have  some  news  at  last." 

At  these  words  Pompadour  made  a  sign  to  Malezieux, 
but  the  worthy  chancellor  was  so  gallant  that  he  must  first 
acquit  himself  of  his  duty  towards  the  ladies.  After  he 
had  bowed  to  them,  he  came  towards  the  group,  amongst 
which  were  Pompadour,  D'Harmental,  and  Valef. 

"Come,  my  dear  Malezieux,"  said  Pompadour,  "we  are 
waiting  for  you  most  impatiently.  We  have  just  arrived 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  it  appears.  Valef 
from  the  south,  D'Harmental  from  the  west,  Laval  from 
the  east,  I  from  the  north,  you  from  I  do  not  know  where; 
so  that  we  confess  that  we  are  very  curious  to  know  what 
we  are  going  to  do  here  at  Sceaux." 

"You  have  come  to  assist  at  a  great  solemnity,  at  the 
reception  of  a  new  knight  of  the  order  of  the  honey-bee." 

"  Pes^e  .'^  "  said  D'Harmental,  a  little  piqued  that  they 
should  not  have  left  him  time  to  go  to  the  Rue  du  Temps 
Perdu  before  coming  to  Sceaux;  "I  understand  now  why 
Madame  du  Maine  told  us  to  be  so  exact  to  the  rendezvous  ; 
as  to  myself,  I  am  very  grateful  to  her  Highness." 


232  THE    CHEVALIER    lyilAltMENTAL. 

"First  of  all  you  must  know,  young  man,"  interrupted 
Malczieux,  "that  there  is  no  Madame  du  Maine  nor  high- 
ness in  the  question.  There  is  only  the  beautiful  fairy 
Ludovic,  the  queen  of  the  bees,  whom  every  one  must  obey 
blin(^3^  Our  queen  is  all-wise  and  all-powerful,  and  when 
you  know  who  is  the  knight  we  are  to  receive  you  will  not 
regret  your  diligence." 

"  And  who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Valef ,  who,  arriving  from  the 
greatest  distance,  was  naturally  the  most  anxious  to  know 
why  he  had  been  brought  home. 

"His  Excellency  the  Prince  de  Cellamare." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Pompadour,  "I  begin  to  understand." 

"And  I,"  said  Valef. 

"And  I,"  said  D'Harmental. 

"Very  well,"  said  Malezieux,  smiling;  "and  before  the 
end  of  the  evening  you  will  understand  still  better;  mean- 
while do  not  try  to  see  farther.  It  is  not  the  first  time 
you  have  entered  with  your  eyes  bandaged,  Monsieur 
d'Harraental?" 

At  these  words,  Malezieux  advanced  towards  a  little 
man,  with  a  flat  face,  flowing  hair,  and  a  discontented 
expression.  D'Harmental  inquired  who  it  was,  and  Pom- 
padour replied  that  it  was  the  poet  Lagrange-Chancel. 
The  young  men  looked  at  the  new-comer  with  a  curiosity 
mixed  with  disgust;  then,  turning  away,  and  leaving 
Pompadour  to  advance  towards  the  Cardinal  de  Polignac, 
who  entered  at  this  moment,  they  went  into  the  embrasure 
of  a  window  to  talk  over  the  occurrences  of  the  evening. 

The  order  of  the  honey-bee  had  been  founded  by  Madame 
du  Maine,  apropos  of  the  Italian  motto  which  she  had 
adopted  at  her  marriage:  "Little  insects  inflict  large 
stings." 

This  order  had,  like  others,  its  decorations,  its  officers, 
and  its  grand-master.  The  decoration  was  a  medal,  repre- 
senting on  one  side  a  hive,  and  on  the  other  the  queen -bee: 
it  was  hung  by  a  lemon-coloured  ribbon,  and  was  worn  by 
every  knight  whenever  he  came  to  Sceaux.     The  officers 


The  Duchess  of  Maine. 


THE   ORDER   OF   THE   HONEY-BEE.  233 

were  Malezieux,  St.  Aulaire,  the  Abbé  Chaulieu,  and  St. 
Genest.     Madame  du  Maine  was  grand-master. 

It  was  composed  of  thirty-nine  members,  and  could  not 
exceed  this  number.  The  death  of  Monsieur  de  Nevers 
had  left  a  vacancy  which  was  to  be  filled  by  the  nomina- 
tion of  the  Prince  de  Cellamare.  The  fact  was,  that 
Madame  du  Maine  had  thought  it  safer  to  cover  this  po- 
litical meeting  with  a  frivolous  pretext,  feeling  sure  that  a 
fête  in  the  gardens  at  Sceaux  would  appear  less  suspicious 
in  the  eyes  of  Dubois  and  Messire  Voyer  d'Argenson  than 
an  assembly  at  the  Arsenal.  Thus,  as  will  be  seen,  nothing 
had  been  forgotten  to  give  its  old  splendour  to  the  order 
of  the  honey-bee. 

At  four  o'clock  precisely,  the  time  fixed  for  the  cere- 
mony, the  doors  of  the  room  opened,  and  they  perceived, 
in  a  saloon  hung  with  crimson  satin  spangled  with  silver 
bees,  the  beautiful  fairy  Ludovic  seated  on  a  throne  raised 
on  three  steps.  She  made  a  gesture  with  her  golden  wand, 
and  all  her  court,  passing  into  the  saloon,  arranged  them- 
selves in  a  half-circle  round  her  throne,  on  the  steps  of 
which  the  dignitaries  of  the  order  placed  themselves. 

After  the  initiation  of  the  Prince  de  Cellamare  as  a 
knight  of  the  honey-bee,  a  second  door  was  opened,  dis- 
playing a  room  brilliantly  lighted,  where  a  splendid  supper 
was  laid.  The  new  knight  of  the  order  offered  his  hand 
to  the  fairy,  and  conducted  her  to  the  supper-room,  followed 
by  the  assistants. 

The  entertainment  was  worthy  of  the  occasion,  and  the 
flow  of  wit  which  so  peculiarly  characterised  the  epoch 
was  well  sustained.  At  the  hour  began  to  draw  late,  the 
Duchesse  du  Maine  rose  and  announced  that,  having 
received  an  excellent  telescope  from  the  author  of  "The 
Worlds,"  she  invited  her  company  to  study  astronomy  in 
the  garden. 


234  THE   CHEVALIEU   D'IIARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  XXTI. 

THE   QUEEN    OF    THE    GREENLANDER8. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  new  surprises  awaited  the 
guests  in  the  garden.  These  gardens,  designed  by  Le 
Notre  for  Colbert,  and  sold  by  him  to  the  Due  du  Maine, 
had  now  really  the  appearance  of  a  fairy  abode.  They 
were  bounded  only  by  a  large  sheet  of  water,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  the  pavilion  of  Aurora,  —  so  called  because 
from  this  pavilion  was  generally  given  the  signal  that  the 
night  was  finished,  and  that  it  was  time  to  retire,  —  and 
had,  with  their  games  of  tennis,  football,  and  tilting  at 
the  ring,  an  aspect  truly  royal.  Every  one  was  astonished 
on  arriving  to  find  all  the  old  trees  and  graceful  paths 
linked  together  by  garlands  of  light  which  changed  the 
night  into  brilliant  day. 

At  the  approach  of  Madame  du  Maine  a  strange  party, 
consisting  of  seven  individuals',  advanced  gravely  towards 
her.  They  were  dressed  entirely  in  fur,  and  wore  hairy 
caps,  which  hid  their  faces.  They  had  with  them  a  sledge 
drawn  by  two  reindeer,  and  their  deputation  was  headed 
by  a  chief  wearing  a  long  robe  lined  with  fur,  with  a  cap  of 
fox-skin,  on  which  were  three  tails.  This  chief,  kneeling 
before  Madame  du  Maine,  addressed  her,  — 

"  Madame  !  the  Greenlanders  have  chosen  me,  as  one  of 
the  chief  among  them,  to  offer  you,  on  their  parts,  the 
sovereignty  of  their  state." 

This  allusion  was  so  evident,  and  yet  so  safe,  that  a 
murmur  of  approbation  ran  through  the  whole  assembly, 
and  the  ambassador,  visibly  encouraged  by  this  reception, 
continued,  — 

*'  Fame  has  told  us,  even  in  the  midst  of  our  snows,  in 


THE    QUEEN    OF    TITE    GREENLANDEJIS.  235 

our  little  corner  of  the  world,  of  tlio  charms,  the  virtues, 
and  the  inclinations  of  your  highness.  We  know  that  you 
abhor  the  sun." 

This  allusion  was  as  quickly  seized  on  as  the  first,  for 
the  sun  was  the  regent's  device,  and,  as  we  have  said, 
Madame  du  Maine  was  well  known  for  her  predilection  in 
favour  of  night. 

"Consequently,  madame,"  continued  the  ambassador, 
"as  in  our  geographical  position  God  has  blessed  us  with 
six  months  of  night  and  six  months  of  twilight,  we  come 
to  propose  to  you  to  take  refuge  in  our  land  from  the  sun 
which  you  so  much  dislike;  and  in  recompense  for  that 
which  you  leave  here,  we  offer  you  the  title  of  Queen  of 
the  Greenlanders.  We  are  certain  that  your  presence  will 
cause  our  arid  plains  to  flower,  and  that  the  wisdom  of 
your  laws  will  conquer  our  stubborn  spirit,  and  that, 
thanks  to  the  gentleness  of  your  reign,  we  shall  renounce 
a  liberty  less  sweet  than  your  rule." 

"But,"  said  Madame  du  Maine,  "it  seems  to  me  that 
the  kingdom  you  offer  me  is  rather  distant,  and  I  confess 
I  do  not  like  long  voyages." 

"We  foresaw  your  reply,  madame,"  replied  the  ambas- 
sador, "and,  thanks  to  the  enchantments  of  a  powerful 
magician,  have  so  arranged  that,  if  you  would  not  go  to 
the  mountain,  the  mountain  should  come  to  you.  Hola, 
genii  !  "  continued  the  chief,  describing  some  cabalistic 
circles  in  the  air  with  his  wand,  "display  the  palace  of 
your  new  sovereign." 

At  this  moment  some  fanciful  music  was  heard;  the  veil 
which  covered  the  pavilion  of  Aurora  was  raised  as  if  by 
magic,  and  the  water  showed  the  reflection  of  a  light  so 
skilfully  placed  that  it  might  have  been  taken  for  the 
moon.  By  this  light  was  seen  an  island  of  ice  at  the  foot 
of  a  snowy  peak,  on  which  was  the  palace  of  the  Queen  of 
the  Greenlanders,  to  which  led  a  bridge  so  light  that  it 
seemed  to  be  made  of  a  floating  cloud.  Then,  in  the  midst 
of  general   acclamation,    the   ambassador   took   from    the 


236  THE   CHEVALIER   D'hARMENTAL. 

hands  of  one  of  his  suite  a  crown,  which  he  placed  on  the 
duchess's  head,  and  which  she  received  with  as  haughty  a 
gesture  as  though  it  had  been  a  real  crown.  Then,  getting 
into  the  sledge,  she  went  towards  the  marine  palace;  and, 
while  the  guards  prevented  the  crowd  from  following  her 
into  her  new  domain,  she  crossed  the  bridge  and  entered, 
with  the  seven  ambassadors.  At  the  same  instant  the 
bridge  disappeared,  as  if,  by  an  illusion  not  less  visible 
than  the  others,  the  skilful  machinist  had  wished  to  sepa- 
rate the  past  from  the  future,  and  fireworks  expressed  the 
joy  of  the  Greenlanders  at  seeing  their  new  sovereign. 
Meanwhile  Madame  du  Maine  was  introduced  by  an  usher 
into  the  most  retired  part  of  the  palace,  and  the  seven 
ambassadors  having  thrown  off  caps  and  cloaks,  she  found 
herself  surrounded  by  the  Prince  de  Cellamare,  Cardinal 
Polignac,  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour,  the  Comte  de  Laval, 
the  Baron  de  Valef,  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental,  and 
Malezieux.  As  to  the  usher,  who,  after  having  carefully 
closed  all  the  doors,  came  and  mixed  familiarly  with  all 
this  noble  assembly,  he  was  no  other  than  our  old  friend, 
the  Abbé  Brigand.  Things  now  began  to  take  their  true 
form,  and  the  fête,  as  the  ambassadors  had  done,  threw  off 
mask  and  costume,  and  turned  openly  to  conspiracy. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  duchess,  with  her  habitual  vi- 
vacity, "we  have  not  an  instant  to  lose,  as  too  long  an 
absence  would  be  suspicious.  Let  every  one  tell  quickly 
what  he  has  done,  and  we  shall  know  what  we  are  about." 

"Pardon,  madame,"  said  the  prince,  "but  you  had 
spoken  to  me,  as  being  one  of  ourselves,  of  a  man  whom 
I  do  not  see  here,  and  whom  I  am  distressed  not  to  count 
among  our  numbers." 

"You  mean  the  Due  de  Eichelieu?"  replied  Madame 
du  Maine;  "it  is  true  he  promised  to  come;  he  must  have 
been  detained  by  some  adventure;  we  must  do  without 
him." 

"Yes,  certainly,"  replied  the  prince,  "if  he  does  not 
come  we  must  do  without  him;  but  I  confess  that  I  deeply 


THE   QUEEN   OF   THE    GREENLANDERS.  237 

regret  his  absence.  The  regiment  which  he  commands  is 
at  Bayonne,  and  for  that  reason  might  be  very  useful  to 
us.  Give  orders,  I  beg,  madame,  that  if  he  should  come 
he  should  be  admitted  directly." 

''Abbe,"  said  Madame  du  Maine,  turning  to  Brigand, 
"you  heard;  tell  D'Avranches." 

The  abbé  went  out  to  execute  this  order. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  D'Harmental  to  Malezieux, 
"  but  I  thought  six  weeks  ago  that  the  Due  de  Richelieu 
positively  refused  to  be  one  of  us." 

"Yes,"  answered  Malezieux,  "because  he  knew  that  he 
was  intended  to  take  the  cordon  bleu  to  the  Prince  of  the 
Asturias,  and  he  would  not  quarrel  with  the  regent  just 
when  he  expected  the  Golden  Fleece  as  the  reward  of  his 
embassy;  but  now  the  regent  has  changed  his  mind  and 
deferred  sending  the  order,  so  that  the  Due  de  Richelieu, 
seeing  his  Golden  Fleece  put  off  till  the  Greek  kalends, 
has  come  back  to  us." 

"1  have  given  the  order,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigand, 
returning. 

"Well,"  said  the  duchess,  "now  let  us  go  to  business. 
Laval,  you  begin." 

"I,  madame,"  said  Laval,  "as  you  know,  have  been  in 
Switzerland,  where,  with  the  King  of  Spain's  name  and 
money,  I  raised  a  regiment  in  the  Grisons.  This  regi- 
ment is  ready  to  enter  France  at  any  moment,  armed  and 
equipped,  and  only  waits  the  order  to  march." 

"Very  good,  my  dear  count,"  said  the  duchess;  "and  if 
you  do  not  think  it  below  a  Montmorency  to  be  colonel  of 
a  regiment  while  waiting  for  something  better,  take  the 
command  of  this  one.  It  is  a  surer  way  of  getting  the 
Golden  Fleece  than  taking  the  Saint  Esprit  into  Spain." 

"Madame,"  said  Laval,  "it  is  for  you  to  appoint  each 
one  his  place,  and  whatever  you  may  appoint  will  be 
gratefully  accepted  by  the  most  humble  of  your  servants." 

"And  you.  Pompadour,"  said  Madame  du  Maine,  thank- 
ing Laval  by  a  gesture  of  the  hand,  "what  have  you 
done  ?  " 


238  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"According  to  your  Highness's  instructions,"  replied 
the  marquis,  "  I  went  to  Normandy,  wliere  I  got  the  protes- 
tation signed  by  the  nobility.  I  bring  you  thirty-eight 
good  signatures."  He  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket. 
"Here  is  the  request  to  the  king,  and  here  the  signatures." 

The  duchess  snatched  the  paper  so  quickly  that  slie 
almost  tore  it,  and,  throwing  her  eyes  rapidly  over  it, — 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  she,  "you  have  done  well  to  put  them 
so,  without  distinction  or  difference  of  rank,  so  that  there 
may  be  no  question  of  precedence.  Guillaume-Alexandre 
de  Vieux-Pont,  Pierre-Anne-Marie  de  la  Pailleterie,  De 
Beaufremont,  De  Latour-Dupin,  De  Châtillon.  Yes,  you 
are  right;  these  are  the  best  and  most  faithful  names  in 
France.  Thanks,  Pompadour;  you  are  a  worthy  messen- 
ger; your  skill  shall  not  be  forgotten.  And  you,  chev- 
alier ?  "  continued  she,  turning  to  D'Harmental  with  her 
irresistible  smile. 

"I,  madame,"  said  the  chevalier,  "according  to  your 
orders,  left  for  Brittany,  and  at  Nantes  I  opened  my 
despatches  and  took  my  instructions." 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  duchess  quickly. 

"Well,  madame,"  replied  D'Harmental,  "I  have  been 
as  successful  as  Messieurs  de  Laval  and  Pompadour.  I 
have  the  promises  of  Messieurs  De  Montlouis,  De  Bona- 
mour,  De  Pont-Callet,  and  De  Eohan  Soldue.  As  soon  as 
Spain  shows  a  squadron  in  sight  of  the  coasts,  Brittany 
will  rise." 

"You  see,  prince,"  cried  the  duchess,  addressing  Cella- 
mare,  with  an  accent  full  of  ambitious  joy,  "everything 
favours  us." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  prince;  "but  these  four  gentlemen, 
influential  as  they  are,  are  not  all  that  we  must  have. 
There  are  Laguerche-Saint-Amant,  Les  Bois-Davy,  De 
Larochefoucault-Gondral,  Les  Décourt,  and  Les  d'Erée 
whom  it  would  be  important  to  gain." 

"It  is  done,  prince,"  said  D'Harmental;  "here  are  their 
letters  ;  "  and  taking  several  from  his  pocket,  he  opened 
two  or  three  by  chance  and  read  their  contents. 


THE   QUEEN   OF   THE   GREENLANDERS.  23^ 

"Well,  prince,"  cried  Madame  du  Maine,  "what  do  you 
think  now  ?  Besides  these  three  letters,  here  is  one  from 
Lavauguyon,  one  from  Bois-Davy,  one  from  Fumée.  Stay, 
chevalier,  here  is  our  right  hand;  'tis  that  which  holds 
the  pen,  —  let  it  be  a  pledge  to  you,  that,  if  ever  its  signa- 
ture should  be  royal,  it  would  have  nothing  to  refuse  to 
you." 

"Thanks,  madame,"  said  D'Harmental,  kissing  her 
hand  respectfully,  "  but  you  have  already  given  me  more 
than  I  deserve,  and  success  itself  would  recompense  me  so 
highly,  by  placing  your  Highness  in  your  proper  position, 
that  I  should  have  nothing  left  to  desire." 

"And  now,  Valef,  it  is  your  turn,"  continued  the 
duchess  ;  "  we  kept  you  till  the  last,  for  you  were  the  most 
important.  If  1  understood  rightly  your  signs  during 
dinner,  you  are  not  displeased  with  their  Catholic 
Majesties." 

"  What  would  your  Highness  say  to  a  letter  written  by 
his  Highness  Philippe  himself  ?  " 

"Oh!  it  is  more  than  I  ever  dared  to  hope  for,"  cried 
Madame  du  Maine. 

"Prince,"  said  Valef,  passing  a  paper  to  Cellamare, 
"you  know  his  Majesty's  writing.  Assure  her  royal 
Highness,  who  does  not  dare  to  believe  it,  that  this  is 
from  his  own  hand." 

"It  is,"  said  Cellamare. 

"  And  to  whom  is  it  addressed  ?  "  asked  Madame  du 
Maine,  taking  it  from  the  prince's  hands. 

"To  the  king,  Louis  XV.,  madame,"  said  the  latter. 

"Good!"  said  the  duchess;  "we  will  get  it  presented 
by  the  Maréchal  de  Villeroy.  Let  us  see  what  it  says." 
And  she  read  as  rapidly  as  the  writing  permitted  :  — 

"The  Escurial,  16th  March,  1718. 

"  Since  Providence  has  placed  me  on  the  throne  of 
Spain,  I  have  never  for  an  instant  lost  sight  of  the  obli- 
gations of  my  birth.  Louis  XIV.,  of  eternal  memory,  is 
always  present  to  my  mind.     I  seem  always  to  hear  that 


240  THE  CHEVALIER  D'HAKMENTAL. 

great  prince,  at  the  moment  of  our  separation,  sajdng  to 
me,  *  The  Pyrenees  exist  no  longer.'  Your  Majesty  is  the 
only  descendant  of  my  elder  brother,  whose  loss  I  feel 
daily.  God  has  called  you  to  the  succession  of  this  great 
monarchy,  whose  glory  and  interests  will  be  precious  to 
me  till  my  death,  I  can  never  forget  what  I  owe  to  your 
Majesty,  to  my  country,  and  to  the  memory  of  my 
ancestor. 

"My  dear  Spaniards  (who  love  me  tenderly,  and  who 
are  well  assured  of  my  love  for  them,  and  not  jealous  of 
the  sentiments  which  I  hold  for  you)  are  well  assured  that 
our  union  is  the  base  of  public  tranquillity.  I  flatter 
myself  that  my  personal  interests  are  still  dear  to  a  na- 
tion which  has  nourished  me  in  its  bosom,  and  that  a 
nobility  who  has  shed  so  much  blood  to  support  them 
will  always  look  with  love  on  a  king  who  feels  it  an 
honour  to  be  obliged  to  them,  and  to  have  been  born 
among  them." 

"This  is  addressed  to  you,  gentlemen,"  said  the  duchess, 
interrupting  herself;  and,  looking  round  her,  she  con- 
tinued,  impatient  to  know  the  rest  of  the  letter  :  — 

"What,  then,  can  your  faithful  subjects  think  of  a 
treaty  signed  against  me,   or  rather  against  yourself  ? 

"Since  your  exhausted  finances  can  no  longer  support 
the  current  expenses  of  peace,  it  is  desired  that  you  should 
unite  with  my  most  mortal  enemy,  and  should  make  war 
on  me,  if  I  do  not  consent  to  give  up  Sicily  to  the  arch- 
duke. I  will  never  subscribe  to  these  conditions:  they 
are  insupportable  to  me. 

"I  do  not  enter  into  the  fatal  consequences  of  this 
alliance.  I  only  beg  your  Majesty  to  convoke  the  States- 
General  directly,  to  deliberate  on  an  affair  of  such  great 
consequence." 

"  The  States-General  !  "  murmured  the  Cardinal  de 
Polignac. 

"Well,  what  does  your  Eminence  say  to  the  States- 
General  ?  "  interrupted   Madame  du  Maine,  impatiently. 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  GEEENLANDERS.       241 

"  Has  this  measure  the  misfortune  not  to  meet  with  your 
approbation?  " 

"I  neither  blame  nor  approve,  madame,"  replied  the 
cardinal;  "I  only  remember  that  this  convocation  was 
made  during  the  league,  and  that  Philip  came  off  badly," 

"Men  and  times  are  changed,  cardinal,"  replied  the 
duchess;  "we  are  not  in  1594,  but  in  1718.  Philip  II. 
was  Flemish,  and  Philip  V.  is  French.  The  same  results 
cannot  take  place,  since  the  causes  are  different."  And 
she  went  on  with  the  letter  :  — 

"  I  ask  this  in  the  name  of  the  blood  which  unites  us,  — 
in  the  name  of  the  great  king  from  whom  we  have  our 
origin,  —  in  the  name  of  your  people  and  mine.  If  ever 
there  was  a  necessity  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  French 
nation,  it  is  now.  It  is  indispensable  to  learn  what  they 
think  :  whether  they  wish  to  declare  war  on  us.  As  I  am 
ready  to  expose  my  life  to  maintain  its  glory  and  interests, 
I  hope  you  will  reply  quickly  to  the  proj)ositions  I  make 
to  you.  The  Assembly  will  prevent  the  unfortunate 
results  which  threaten  us,  and  the  forces  of  Spain  will 
only  be  employed  to  sustain  the  greatness  of  France,  and 
to  fight  her  enemies,  as  I  shall  never  employ  them  but  to 
show  your  Majesty  my  sincere  regard  and  affection." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  gentlemen?  Can  his 
Majesty  say  more?" 

"He  might  have  joined  to  this  an  epistle  addressed 
directly  to  the  States-General,"  answered  the  Cardinal  de 
Polignac.  "This  letter,  if  the  king  had  deigned  to  send 
it,  would  have  had  a  great  influence  on  their  delibera- 
tions." 

"Here  it  is,"  said  the  Prince  de  Cellamare,  taking  a 
paper  from  his  pocket. 

"  What,  prince  !  "  cried  the  cardinal. 

"I  say  that  his  Majesty  is  of  the  same  opinion  as  your 
Eminence,  and  has  sent  me  this  letter,  which  is  the  com- 
plement of  the  letter  which  the  Baron  de  Valef  has." 

"Then  nothing  is  wanting,"  cried  Madame  du  Maine. 

16 


242  THE  CHEVALIER  d'hakmental. 

*'We  want  Bayonne,"  said  the  Prince  de  Cellamare;  — 
"Bayonne,  the  door  of  France." 

At  this  moment  D'Avranches  entered,  announcing  the 
Due  de  Eichelieu. 

"And  now,  prince,  there  is  nothing  wanting,"  said  the 
Marquis  de  Pompadour,  laughing;  "for  here  is  he  who 
holds  the  key." 


THE   DUC   DE  RICHELIEU.  243 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE    DUC    DE    RICHELIEU. 

"At  last!  "  cried  the  duchess,  seeing  Eichelieu  enter. 
"  Are  you,  then,  always  the  same  ?  Your  friends  cannot 
count  on  you  any  more  than  your  mistresses." 

"On  the  contrary,  madame,"  said  Richelieu,  approach- 
ing the  duchess,  "for  to-day,  more  than  ever,  I  prove  to 
your   Highness  that  I  can  reconcile  everything." 

"Then  you  have  made  a  sacrifice  for  us,  duke,"  said 
Madame  du  Maine,  laughing. 

"Ten  thousand  times  greater  than  you  can  imagine. 
Who  do  you  think  I  have  left  ?  " 

"  Madame  de  Villars  ?  "  asked  the  duchess. 

"Oh  no!  better  than  that." 

"  Madame  de  Duras  ?  " 

"No." 

"Madame  de  Ne'sle?" 

"Bah!" 

"Madame  de  Polignac  ?     Ah  !  pardon,  cardinal." 

"Go  on.     It  does  not  concern  his  Eminence." 

"Madame  de  Soubise,  Madame  de  Gabriant,  Madame 
de  Gacé  ?  " 

"No,  no,  no." 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Charolais  ?  " 

"I  have  not  seen  her  since  my  last  trip  to  the  Bastille." 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Valois  ?  " 

"Oh!  I  intend  her  for  my  wife,  when  we  have  suc- 
ceeded, and  I  am  a  Spanish  prince.  No,  madame;  I  have 
left,  for  your  Highness,  the  two  most  charming  grisettes." 

"  Grisettes  !  Ah  !  fie  !  "  cried  the  duchess,  with  a  move- 
ment of  contempt,  "  I  did  not  think  that  you  descended  to 
such  creatures." 


244  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Creatures!  two  charming  women!  Madame  Michelin 
and  Madame  Kenaud.  Do  you  not  know  them?  Madame 
Michelin,  a  beautiful  blonde;  her  husband  is  a  carpet 
manufacturer;  I  reconiniend  him  to  you,  duchess.  Madame 
lienaud,  an  adorable  brunette,  with  blue  eyes  and  black 
lashes,  and  whose  husband  is  — .  Ma  foi  !  I  do  not 
remember  exactly  — " 

"What  Monsieur  Michelin  is,  probably,"  said  Pompa- 
dour, laughing. 

"Pardon,  duke,"  replied  Madame  du  Maine,  who  liad 
lost  all  curiosity  for  lUchelieu's  love  adventures  as  soon 
as  they  travelled  from  a  certain  set,  "may  I  venture  to 
remind  you  that  we  met  here  on  important  business!  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  we  are  conspiring,  are  we  not  ?  " 

"  Had  you  forgotten  it  ?  " 

'^  Ma  foi!  a  conspiracy  is  not  one  of  the  gayest  things  in 
the  world,  therefore  I  forget  it  whenever  I  can  ;  but  that 
is  nothing,  —  whenever  it  is  necessary  I  can  come  back  to 
it.     Now  let  us  see  :  how  does  the  conspiracy  go  on  ?  " 

"  Here,  duke,  look  at  these  letters,  and  you  will  know 
as  much  as  we  do." 

"Oh!  your  Highness  must  excuse  me,"  said  Richelieu  ; 
"but  really  I  do  not  read  those  which  are  addressed  to 
me,  and  I  have  seven  or  eight  hundred,  in  the  most 
charming  writings,  which  I  am  keeping  to  amuse  my  old 
days.  Here,  Malezieux,  you  are  clearness  itself,  give  me 
a  report." 

"  Well,  these  letters  are  the  engagements  of  the  Breton 
nobles  to  sustain  the  rights  of  her  Highness." 

"Very  good." 

"This  paper  is  the  protestation  of  the  nobility." 

"Oh!  give  it  me.     I  protest." 

"But  you  do  not  know  against  what." 

"Never  mind,  I  protest  all  the  same." 

And,  taking  the  paper,  he  wrote  his  name  after  that  of 
Guillaume  Antoine  de  Chastellux,  which  was  the  last 
signature. 


THE    DUC   DE    RICHELIEU.  245 

"Let him  alone,"  said  Cellamare  to  the  duchess,  "Riche- 
lieu's name  is  useful  everywhere." 

"  And  this  letter  ?  "  asked  the  duke,  pointing  to  the 
missive  of  Philip  V. 

"That  letter,"  continued  Malezieux,  "is  written  by 
King  Philip  himself." 

"Then  his  Catholic  Majesty  writes  worse  than  I  do," 
answered  Richelieu.  "That  pleases  me.  Ratîé  always 
says  it  is  impossible." 

"If  the  letter  is  badly  written,  the  news  it  contains  is 
none  the  less  good,"  said  Madame  du  Maine,  "for  it  is  a 
letter  begging  the  King  of  France  to  assemble  the  States- 
General  to  oppose  the  treaty  of  the  quadruple  alliance." 

"And  is  your  Highness  sure  of  the  States-General  ?" 

"Here  is  the  protestation  which  engages  the  nobility. 
The  cardinal  answers  for  the  clergy,  and  there  only 
remains  the  army." 

"The  army,"  said  Laval,  "is  my  affair.  I  have  the 
signs  manual  of  twenty -two  colonels." 

"First,"  said  Richelieu,  "I  answer  for  my  regiment, 
which  is  at  Bayonne,  and  which,  consequently,  is  able  to 
be  of  great  service  to  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Cellamare,  "and  we  reckon  on  it,  but  I 
heard  that  there  was  a  question  of  changing  the  garrison  " 

"Seriously?" 

"Very  seriously.  You  understand,  duke  ?  We  must 
be  beforehand." 

"  Instantly.  Paper,  —  ink  ;  I  will  write  to  the  Due  de 
Berwick.  At  the  moment  of  commencing  a  campaign,  no 
one  will  be  astonished  at  my  begging  not  to  be  removed 
from  the  theatre  of  war." 

The  duchess  hastened  to  give  Richelieu  what  he  asked, 
and,  taking  a  pen,  presented  it  to  him  herself.  The  duke 
bowed,  took  the  pen,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Due  de 
Berwick,  begging  that  his  regiment  should  not  be  removed 
till  May. 

"Now  read,  madame,"  continued  the  duke,  passing  the 


246  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

paper  to  Madame  du  Maine.  The  duchess  took  the  letter, 
read  it,  and  passed  it  to  her  neighbour,  wlio  passed  it  on, 
so  that  it  made  the  round  of  tlie  table.  Maiuzieux,  who 
had  it  the  last,  could  not  repress  a  slight  smile. 

"Ah!  poet,"  said  liichelieu,  "you  are  laughiug  j  I  sup- 
pose I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  oft'end  that  ridiculous 
prude  called  orthography.  You  know  I  am  a  gentleman, 
and  they  forgot  to  teach  me  i'renchj  thinking,  1  suppose, 
that  for  lifteeu  hundred  francs  a  year  I  can  always  have  a 
vuLet  de  chambre,  who  could  write  my  letters  and  make  my 
verses.  This  will  not  prevent  me,  my  dear  Malezieux, 
from  being  in  the  Academy,  not  only  before  you,  but 
before  Voltaire." 

"In  which  case,  will  your  valet  de  chambre  write  your 
discourse  ?  " 

"He  is  working  at  it,  and  you  will  see  that  it  will  not 
be  worse  than  those  that  some  academicians  of  my  ac- 
quaintance have  done  themselves." 

"Duke,"  said  Madame  du  Maine,  "it  will  doubtless  be 
a  curious  thing  to  see  your  reception  into  the  illustrious 
body  of  which  you  speak,  and  I  promise  you  to  employ 
myself  to-morrow  in  procuring  a  seat  for  that  day;  but 
this  evening  we  are  occupied  with  other  things." 

"Well,"  said  Richelieu,  "speak,  I  listen.  What  have 
you  resolved  ?  " 

"  To  obtain  from  the  king,  by  means  of  these  two  letters, 
the  convocation  of  the  States-General;  then,  sure  as  we 
are  of  the  three  orders,  we  depose  the  regent,  and  name 
Philip  V.  in  his  place." 

"And  as  Philip  V.  cannot  leave  Madrid,  he  gives  us 
full  powers,  and  we  govern  France  in  his  stead.  Well,  it 
is  not  badly  arranged,  all  that,  but  to  convoke  the  States- 
General  you  must  have  an  order  from  the  king." 

"The  king  will  sign  it." 

"  Without  the  regent's  knowledge  ?  '* 

"Without  the  regent's  knowledge." 

"  Then  you  have  promised  the  Bishop  of  Fréjus  to  make 
him  a  cardinal." 


THE    DUC    DE    KICllELIEU.  247 

"No;  but  I  will  promise  Villeroy  a  title  and  the  Golden 
Fleece." 

"I  am  afraid,  madame,"  said  the  Prince  of  Cellamare, 
"that  all  this  will  not  determine  the  marshal  to  undertake 
80  grave  a  responsibility." 

"It  is  not  the  marshal  we  want;  it  is  his  wife." 

"Ah!  you  remind  me,"  said  Richelieu,  "I  undertake  it." 

"You!  "  said  the  duchess,  with  astonishment. 

"Yes,  madame,"  replied  Richelieu,  "you  have  your 
correspondence,  I  have  mine.  1  have  seen  seven  or  eight 
letters  that  you  have  received  to-day.  Will  your  Highness 
have  the  goodness  to  look  at  one  I  received  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Is  this  letter  for  me  only,  or  may  it  be  read  aloud  ?  " 

"  We  are  among  discreet  people,  are  we  not  ?  "  said 
Richelieu,   looking  round  him. 

"I  think  so,"  replied  the  duchess,  "besides,  the  gravity 
of  the  situation." 

The  duchess  took  the  letter,  and  read  :  — 

Monsieur  le  Duc,  —  I  am  a  woman  of  my  word.  My  husband 
is  on  the  eve  of  setting  out  for  the  little  journey  you  know  of.  To- 
morrow, at  eleven  o'clock,  I  shall  be  at  home  for  you  only.  Do  not 
think  that  I  decide  on  this  step  without  having  put  all  the  blame  on 
the  shoulders  of  Monsieur  de  Villeroy.  I  begin  to  fear  for  him, 
as  you  may  have  undertaken  to  punish  him.  Come,  then,  at  the 
appointed  hour,  to  prove  to  me  that  I  am  not  too  much  to  blame  in 
conspiring  with  you  against  my  lord  and  master. 

"Ah!  pardon,  that  is  not  the  one  I  intended  to  show 
you,  that  is  the  one  of  the  day  before  yesterday.  Here  is 
yesterday's." 

The  duchess  took  the  second  letter,  and  read  as  follows  : 

My  dear  Armand,  — 

"  Is  this  it,  or  are  you  mistaken  again  ?  "  said  the  duchess 
to  Richelieu. 

"No,  no;  this  time  it  is  right." 
The  duchess  went  on. 


248  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

My  dear  Armand,  —  You  are  a  dangerous  advocate  when  yon 
plead  against  I\Ionsieur  de  Villeroy.  I  need  to  exaggerate  your 
talents  to  diminish  my  weakness.  You  had,  in  my  heart,  a  judge 
interested  in  your  gaining  your  cause.  Come  to-morrow  to  plead 
again,  and  I  will  give  you  an  audience. 

"  And  have  you  been  there  ?  " 

"Certainl}',  madame." 

"  And  the  duchess  ?  " 

"Will  do,  I  hope,  all  we  desire;  and,  as  she  makes  her 
husband  do  whatever  she  likes,  we  shall  have  our  order 
for  the  convocation  of  the  States-General  on  his  return." 

"And  when  will  he  return  ?" 

"In  a  week." 

"  And  can  you  be  faithful  all  that  time  ?  " 

"  Madame,  when  I  have  undertaken  a  cause,  I  am  capa- 
ble of  the  greatest  sacrifices  to  forward  it." 

"Then  we  may  count  on  your  word  ?  " 

"I  pledge  myself." 

"  You  hear,  gentlemen  ?  "  said  the  Duchess  du  Maine. 
"  Let  us  continue  to  work.  You,  Laval,  act  on  the  army. 
You,  Pompadour,  on  the  nobility.  You,  cardinal,  on  the 
clergy,  and  let  us  leave  the  Due  de  Richelieu  to  act  on 
Madame  de  Villeroy." 

"  And  for  what  day  is  our  next  meeting  fixed  ?  "  asked 
Cellamare. 

"All  depends  on  circumstances,  prince,"  replied  the 
duchess.  "At  any  rate,  if  I  have  not  time  to  give  you 
notice,  I  will  send  the  same  carriage  and  coachman  to 
fetch  you  who  took  you  to  the  Arsenal  the  first  time  you 
came  there."  Then,  turning  towards  Richelieu,  "You  give 
us  the  rest  of  the  evening,  duke  ?  " 

"I  ask  your  pardon,"  replied  Richelieu,  "but  it  is 
absolutely  impossible;  I  am  expected  in  the  Rue  des  Bons 
Enfants." 

"  What!  have  you  made  it  up  with  Madame  de  Sabran  ?" 

"We  never  quarrelled,  madame." 

"Take  care,  duke  j  that  looks  like  constancy." 


THE    DUC    DE    RICHELIEU.  249 

"No,  madame,  it  is  calculation." 

"  Ah  !  I  see  that  you  are  on  the  road  towards  becoming 
devoted." 

"I  never  do  things  by  halves,  madame." 

"Well,  we  will  follow  your  example,  Monsieur  le  Duc. 
And  now  we  have  been  an  hour  and  a  half  away,  and 
should,  I  think,  return  to  the  gardens,  that  our  absence 
may  not  be  too  much  noticed;  besides,  I  think  the  God- 
dess of  Night  is  on  the  shore,  waiting  to  thank  us  for  the 
preference  we  have  given  her  over  the  sun." 

"With  your  permission,  however,  madame,"  said  Laval, 
"I  must  keep  you  an  instant  longer,  to  tell  you  the  trouble 
I  am  in." 

"Speak,  count,"  replied  the  duchess;  "what  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

"It  is  about  our  requests,  our  protestations.  It  was 
agreed,  if  you  remember,  that  they  should  be  printed  by 
workmen  who  cannot  read." 

"Well." 

"I  bought  a  press,  and  established  it  in  the  cellar  of 
a  house  behind  the  Val-de-Grace.  I  enlisted  the  necessary 
workmen,  and,  up  to  the  present  time,  have  had  the  most 
satisfactory  results;  but  the  noise  of  our  machine  has 
given  rise  to  the  suspicion  that  we  were  coining  false 
money,  and  yesterday  the  police  made  a  descent  on  the 
house;  fortunately,  there  was  time  to  stop  the  work  and 
roll  a  bed  over  the  trap,  so  that  they  discovered  nothing. 
But  as  the  visit  might  be  renewed,  and  with  a  less  fortu- 
nate result,  as  soon  as  they  were  gone  I  dismissed  the 
workmen,  buried  the  press,  and  had  all  the  proofs  taken 
to  my  own  house." 

"And  you  did  well,  count,"  cried  the  Cardinal  de 
Polignac. 

"But  what  are  we  to  do  now?"  asked  Madame  du 
Maine. 

"Have  the  press  taken  to  my  house,"  said  Pompadour. 

"Or  mine,"  said  Valef. 


250  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HAUMENTAL. 

"No,  no,"  said  Malezieux;  "a  press  is  too  dangerous  a 
means.  One  of  the  police  may  easily  slip  in  amon<;  the 
workmen,  and  all  will  be  lost.  Besides,  there  cannot  be 
much  left  to  print." 

"The  greater  part  is  done,"  said  Laval. 

"Well,"  continued  Malezieux,  "my  advice  is,  as  before, 
to  employ  some  intelligent  copyist,  whose  silence  we  can 
buy." 

"Yes,  this  will  be  much  safer,"  said  Polignac. 

"But  where  can  we  find  such  a  man?"  said  the  prince. 
"It  is  not  a  thing  for  which  we  can  take  the  first  comer." 

"If  I  dared,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigaud. 

"  Dare,  abbé  !  dare  !  "  said  the  duchess. 

"I  should  say  that  I  know  the  man  you  want." 

"Did  I  not  tell  you,"  said  Pompadour,  "that  the  abbé 
was  a  precious  man  ?  " 

"But  is  he  really  what  we  want  ? "  said  Polignac. 

"Oh,  if  your  Eminence  had  him  made  on  purpose,  he 
could  not  do  better,"  said  Brigaud.  "A  true  machine, 
who  will  write  everything  and  see  nothing." 

"But  as  a  still  greater  precaution,"  said  the  prince,  "we 
might  put  the  most  important  papers  into  Spanish." 

"Then,  prince,"  said  Brigaud,  "I  will  send  him  to  you." 

"No,  no,"  said  Cellamare;  "he  must  not  set  his  foot 
within  the  Spanish  embassy.  It  must  be  done  through 
some  third  party." 

"Yes,  yes,  we  will  arrange  all  that,"  said  the  duchess. 
"  The  man  is  found,  —  that  is  the  principal  thing.  You 
answer  for  him,  Brigaud  ?  " 

"I  do,  madame." 

"  That  is  all  we  require.  And  now  there  is  nothing  to 
keep  us  any  longer,"  continued  the  duchess.  "Monsieur 
d'Harmental,  give  me  your  arm,  I  beg." 

The  chevalier  hastened  to  obey  Madame  du  Maine,  who 
seized  this  opportunity  to  express  her  gratitude  for  the 
courage  he  had  shown  in  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  and 
his  skill  in  Brittany.     At  the  door  of  the  pavilion,  the 


THE    DUC   DE    RICHELIEU.  251 

Greenland  envoys  —  now  dressed  simply  as  guests  —  found 
a  little  galley  waiting  to  take  them  to  the  shore.  Madame 
du  Maine  entered  iirst,  seated  D'Harmental  by  her,  leav- 
ing Malezieux  to  do  the  honours  to  Cellamare  and  Riche- 
lieu. As  the  duchess  had  said,  the  Goddess  of  Night, 
dressed  in  black  gauze  spangled  with  golden  stars,  was 
waiting  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  accompanied  by  the 
twelve  Hours  ;  and,  as  the  duchess  approached,  they  began 
to  sing  a  cantata  appropriate  to  the  subject.  At  the  first 
notes  of  the  solo  D'Harmental  started,  for  the  voice  of  the 
singer  had  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  another  voice,  well 
known  to  him  and  dear  to  his  recollection,  that  he  rose 
involuntarily  to  look  for  the  person  whose  accents  had  so 
singularly  moved  him;  unfortunately,  in  spite  of  the 
torches  which  the  Hours,  her  subjects,  held,  he  could  not 
distinguish  the  goddess's  features,  which  were  covered 
with  a  long  veil,  similar  to  her  dress.  He  could  only  hear 
that  pure,  flexible,  sonorous  voice,  and  that  easy  and  skil- 
ful execution,  which  he  had  so  much  admired  when  he 
heard  it  for  the  first  time  in  the  Eue  du  Temps  Perdu; 
and  each  accent  of  that  voice,  becoming  more  distinct  as 
he  approached  the  shore,  made  him  tremble  from  head  to 
foot.  At  length  the  solo  ceased,  and  the  chorus  recom- 
menced; but  D'Harmental,  insensible  to  all  other  thoughts, 
continued  to  follow  the  vanished  notes. 

"Well,  Monsieur  d'Harmental,"  said  the  duchess,  "are 
you  so  accessible  to  the  charms  of  music  that  you  forget 
that  you  are  my  cavalier  ?  " 

"Oh,  pardon,  madame,"  said  D'Harmental,  leaping  to 
the  shore,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  the  duchess,  "but 
I  thought  I  recognised  that  voice,  and  I  confess  it  brought 
back  such  memories  !  " 

"  That  proves  that  you  are  an  habitué  of  the  opera,  my 
dear  chevalier,  and  that  you  appreciate  as  it  deserves 
Mademoiselle  Berry's  talent." 

"  What,  is  that  voice  Mademoiselle  Berry's  ?  "  asked 
D'Harmental,  with  astonishment. 


252  THE    CHEVALIER    d'IIARMENTAL. 

"  Tt  is,  monsieur;  and  if  you  do  not  believe  me,"  replied 
the  duchess,  "permit  me  to  take  Laval's  arm,  that  you 
may  go  and  assure  yourself  of  it." 

"Oh,  madame,"  said  D'Harmental,  respectfully  retain- 
ing the  hand  she  was  about  to  withdraw,  "  pray  excuse 
me.  We  are  in  the  gardens  of  Armida,  and  a  moment  of 
error  may  be  permitted  among  so  many  enchantments;" 
and,  presenting  his  arm  again  to  the  duchess,  he  conducted 
her  towards  the  château.  At  this  instant  a  feeble  cry  was 
heard,  and,  feeble  as  it  was,  it  reached  D'Harmental's 
heart,  and  he  turned  involuntarily. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  duchess,  with  an  uneasiness 
mixed  with  impatience.  "Nothing,  nothing,"  said  Riche- 
lieu; "it  is  little  Berry,  who  has  the  vapours.  Make 
yourself  easy,  madame.  I  know  the  disease;  it  is  not 
dangerous.  If  you  particularly  wish  it,  I  would  even  go 
to-morrow  to  learn  how  she  is." 

Two  hours  after  this  little  accident  —  which  was  not 
sufficient  to  disturb  the  fête  in  any  way  —  D'Harmental  was 
brought  back  to  Paris  by  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  and  re-entered 
his  little  attic  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu,  from  which  he 
had  been  absent  six  weeks. 


JEALOUSY.  253 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

JEALOUSY. 

The  first  sensation  D'Harmental  experienced  on  returning 
was  one  of  inexpressible  satisfaction  at  finding  himself 
again  in  that  little  room  so  filled  with  recollections. 
Though  he  had  been  absent  six  weeks,  one  might  have 
supposed  that  he  had  only  quitted  it  the  day  before,  as, 
thanks  to  the  almost  maternal  care  of  Madame  Denis, 
everything  was  in  its  accustomed  place.  D'Harmental 
remained  an  instant,  his  candle  in  his  hand,  looking 
around  him  with  a  look  almost  of  ecstasy.  All  the  other 
impressions  of  his  life  were  effaced  by  those  which  he 
had  experienced  in  this  little  corner  of  the  world.  Then 
he  ran  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and  threw  an  indescrib- 
able look  of  love  over  the  darkened  windows  of  his  neigh- 
bour. Doubtless  Bathilde  slept  the  sleep  of  an  angel, 
unconscious  that  D'Harmental  was  there,  trembling  with 
love  and  hope.  He  remained  thus  for  more  than  half  an 
hour,  breathing  the  night  air,  which  had  never  seemed  to 
him  so  pvire  and  fresh,  and  began  to  feel  that  Bathilde  had 
become  one  of  the  necessities  of  his  life;  but  as  he  could 
not  pass  the  whole  night  at  his  window,  he  then  closed  it, 
and  came  into  his  room,  although  only  to  follow  up  the 
recollections  with  which  it  was  filled.  He  opened  his 
piano  and  passed  his  fingers  over  the  keys,  at  the  risk  of 
re-exciting  the  anger  of  the  lodger  on  the  third  floor. 

From  the  piano  he  passed  to  the  unfinished  portrait  of 
Bathilde.  At  length  he  slept,  listening  again  in  his 
mind  to  the  air  sung  by  Mademoiselle  Berry,  whom  he 
finished  by  believing  to  be  one  and  the  same  person  as 
Bathilde.     When  he   awoke,  D'Harmental   jumped   from 


254  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

his  bed  and  ran  to  the  window.  The  day  appeared  already 
advanced;  the  sun  was  shining  brilliantly;  yet  Kathilde'a 
window  remained  hermetically  closed. 

The  chevalier  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  ten  o'clock, 
and  he  began  to  dress.  We  have  already  confessed  that  he 
was  not  free  from  a  certain  almost  feminine  coquetry  ;  but 
this  was  the  fault  of  the  time,  when  everything  was 
mannered,  —  even  passion.  At  this  time  it  was  not  a 
melancholy  expression  on  which  he  reckoned.  The  joy 
of  return  had  given  to  his  face  a  charming  expression  of 
happiness,  and  it  was  evident  that  a  glance  from  Bathilde 
would  crown  him  king  of  the  creation.  This  glance  he 
came  to  the  window  to  seek,  but  Bathilde's  remained 
closed.  D'Harmental  opened  his,  hoping  that  the  noise 
would  attract  her  attention  ;  nothing  stirred.  He  remained 
there  an  hour;  during  this  hour  there  was  not  even  a 
breath  of  wind  to  stir  the  curtains;  the  young  girl's  room 
must  be  abandoned.  He  coughed,  opened  and  closed  the 
window,  detached  little  pieces  of  plaster  from  the  wall, 
and  threw  them  against  the  window,  —  all  in  vain. 

To  surprise  succeeded  uneasiness;  this  window,  so 
obstinately  closed,  must  indicate  absence,  if  not  misfor- 
tune, Bathilde  absent  !  —  where  could  she  be  ?  What  had 
happened  to  disturb  her  calm,  regular  life  ?  Who  could 
he  ask  ?  No  one  but  Madame  Denis  could  know.  It  was 
quite  natural  that  D'Harmental  should  pay  a  visit  to  his 
landlady  on  his  return,  and  he  accordingly  went  down. 
Madame  Denis  had  not  seen  him  since  the  day  of  the 
breakfast.  She  had  not  forgotten  his  attention  when  she 
fainted;  she  received  him  like  the  prodigal  son.  Fortu- 
nately for  D'Harmental,  the  young  ladies  were  occupied 
with  a  drawing  lesson,  and  Boniface  was  at  his  office,  so 
that  he  saw  no  one  but  his  hostess.  The  conversation  fell 
naturally  on  the  order  and  neatness  of  his  room  during  his 
absence;  from  this  the  transition  was  easy  to  the  question 
if  the  opposite  lodging  had  changed  tenants.  Madame 
Denis  replied  that  she  had  seen  Bathilde  at   the  window 


JEALOUSY.  255 

the  morning  before  ;  and  that  in  the  evening  her  son  had 
met  Buvat  returning  from  his  office,  but  had  noticed  in 
him  a  singular  air  of  pride  and  hauteur.  This  was  all 
D'Harmental  wished  to  know.  Bathilde  was  in  Paris, 
and  at  home;  chance  had  not  yet  directed  her  looks 
towards  that  window  so  long  closed  and  that  room  so  long 
empty.  He  took  leave  of  Madame  Denis  with  an  effusion 
of  gratitude  which  she  was  far  from  attributing  to  its  true 
cause;  and  on  the  landing  he  met  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  who 
was  coming  to  pay  his  daily  visit  to  Madame  Denis. 

The  abbé  asked  if  he  was  going  home,  and  promised  to 
pay  him  a  visit.  On  entering  his  room  D'Harmental  went 
straight  to  the  window.  Nothing  was  changed;  it  was 
evidently  a  plan,  and  he  resolved  to  employ  the  last  means 
which  he  had  reserved.  He  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and 
after  a  brilliant  prelude  sang  the  air  of  the  cantata  of 
Night  which  he  had  heard  the  evening  before,  and  of 
which  he  had  retained  every  note  in  his  memory.  Mean- 
while he  did  not  lose  sight  for  an  instant  of  the  inexorable 
window;  but  there  was  no  sign.  The  opposite  room  had 
no  echo. 

But  D'Harmental  had  produced  an  effect  which  he  did 
not  expect.  Hearing  applause,  he  turned  round,  and  saw 
the  Abbé  Brigaud  behind  him. 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  abbe?  "said  D'Harmental;  "I  did  not 
know  that  you  were  so  great  a  lover  of  music." 

"Nor  you  so  good  a  musician.  Peste\!  my  dear  pupil, 
an  air  you  only  heard  once.     It  is  wonderful." 

"  I  thought  it  very  beautiful,  abbé,  and  as  I  have  a  very 
good  memory  for  sounds,  I  retained  it." 

"  And  then  it  was  so  admirably  sung.     Was  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  D'Harmental;  "Mademoiselle  Berry  has 
an  exquisite  voice,  and  the  first  time  she  sings  I  shall  go 
incognito  to  the  opera." 

"  Is  it  that  voice  you  want  to  hear  ?  "  asked  Brigaud. 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  must  not  go  to  the  opera  for  that." 


256  THE    ClIKVALIKK    D'UAKMENTAL. 

"And  where  must  I  go  ?" 

"Nowhere.     Stay  here.     You  are  in  the  boxes.'' 

"  What  !     The  Goddess  of  Night  ?  " 

"Is  your  neighbour." 

"Bathikle!"  cried  D'Harmental.  "Then  I  was  not  de- 
ceived; I  recognised  her.  But  it  is  impossible  !  How 
could  she  have  been  there  ?  " 

"First  of  all,"  said  the  abbé,  "nothing  is  impossible; 
remember  that,  before  you  deny  or  undertake  anything. 
Believe  that  everything  is  possible;  it  is  the  way  to 
succeed  in  everything." 

"ButBathilde?" 

"  Yes,  does  it  not  appear  strange  at  first  ?  Well,  nothing 
is  more  simple.  But  it  does  not  interest  you,  chevalier; 
let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  Yes,  yes,  abbé  ;  you  are  strangely  mistaken,  —  I  am 
deeply  interested." 

"Well,  my  dear  pupil,  since  you  are  so  curious,  this  is 
the  whole  affair.  The  Abbé  Chaulieu  knows  Mademoiselle 
Bathilde;  is  not  that  your  neighbour's  name  ?" 

"Yes.     How  does  the  Abbé  Chaulieu  know  her  ?" 

"  Oh  !  it  is  very  simple.  The  guardian  of  this  charming 
child  is,  as  you  know,  or  do  not  know,  one  of  the  best 
writers  and  copyists  in  the  capital.  The  Abbé  Chaulieu 
wants  some  one  to  copy  his  poetry,  since,  being  blind,  he 
is  obliged  to  dictate  in  the  first  instance  to  a  little  lackey 
who  cannot  spell,  and  he  has  confided  this  important  task 
to  Buvat.  By  this  means  he  has  become  acquainted  with 
Mademoiselle  Bathilde." 

"  But  all  this  does  not  explain  how  Mademoiselle  Bathilde 
came  to  Sceaux." 

"  Stop,  every  history  has  its  commencement,  its  middle, 
and  its  termination." 

"Abbé,  you  will  make  me  swear." 

"Patience,  patience." 

"Go  on;  I  listen  to  you." 

"  Well,  having  made  Mademoiselle  Bathilde's  acquainfe» 


JEALOUSY.  257 

ance,  the  Abbé  Chaulieu,  like  the  rest,  has  felt  the  influ- 
ence of  her  cliarms,  for  there  is  a  species  of  magic  attached 
to  the  young  person  in  question;  no  one  can  see  her  with- 
out loving  her." 

"I  know  it,"  murmured  D'Harmental. 

"  Then,  as  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  is  full  of  talent,  and 
not  only  sings  like  a  nightingale,  but  draws  like  an  angel, 
Chaulieu  spoke  of  her  so  enthusiastically  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Launay  that  she  thought  of  employing  her  for  the  cos- 
tumes of  the  different  personages  in  the  fête." 

"This  does  not  tell  me  that  it  was  Bathilde  and  not 
Mademoiselle  Berry  who  sang  last  night." 

"We  are  coming  to  it." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"It  happened  that  Mademoiselle  de  Launay,  like  the 
rest  of  the  world,  took  a  violent  fancy  to  the  little  witch. 
Instead  of  sending  her  away  after  the  costumes  were 
finished,  she  kept  her  three  days  at  Sceaux.  She  was  still 
there  the  day  before  yesterday,  closeted  with  Mademoiselle 
de  Launay,  when  some  one  entered  with  a  bewildered 
air  to  announce  that  the  director  of  the  opera  wished  to 
speak  to  her  on  a  matter  of  importance.  Mademoiselle  de 
Launay  went  out,  leaving  Bathilde  alone.  Bathilde,  to 
amuse  herself,  went  to  the  piano,  and  finding  both  the 
instrument  and  her  voice  in  good  order,  began  to  sing  a 
great  scene  from  some  opera,  and  with  such  perfection 
that  Mademoiselle  de  Launay,  returning  and  hearing  this 
unexpected  song,  opened  the  door  softly,  listened  to  the 
air,  and  threw  her  arms  round  the  beautiful  singer's  neck, 
crying  out  that  she  could  save  her  life.  Bathilde,  aston- 
ished, asked  how,  and  in  what  manner,  she  could  render 
her  so  great  a  service.  Then  iNIademoiselle  de  Launay 
told  her  how  she  had  engaged  Mademoiselle  Berry  of  the 
opera  to  sing  the  cantata  of  Night  on  the  succeeding  even- 
ing, and  she  had  fallen  ill  and  sent  to  say  that  to  her  great 
regret  her  Royal  Highness  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  could 
not  rely  upon  her,  so  that  there  would  be  no  'Night,'  and, 


258  TUE  CHEVALIER  d'hakmenïal. 

consequently,  no  fete,  if  l^athilde  would  not  have  the 
extreme  goodness  to  undertake  the  aforesaid  cantata. 

"Bathilde,  as  you  may  sui)pose,  defended  herself  with 
all  her  might,  and  declared  that  it  was  impossible  that  she 
should  thus  sing  music  which  she  did  not  know.  Made- 
moiselle de  Launay  put  the  cantata  before  her.  Bathilde 
said  that  the  music  seemed  terribly  difficult.  Mademoiselle 
de  Launay  answered  that  for  a  musician  of  her  powers 
nothing  was  diflicult.  Bathilde  got  up.  Mademoiselle 
de  Launay  made  her  sit  down  again.  Bathilde  clasped 
her  hands.  Mademoiselle  de  Launay  unclasped  them  and 
placed  them  on  the  piano.  The  piano  being  touched  gave 
out  a  sound.  Bathilde,  in  spite  of  herself,  played  the 
lirst  bar;  then  the  second;  then  the  whole  cantata.  Then 
she  attacked  the  song,  and  sang  it  to  the  end  with  an 
admirable  justness  of  intonation  and  beauty  of  expression. 
Mademoiselle  de  Launay  was  enchanted.  Madame  du 
Maine  arrived  in  despair  at  what  she  had  heard  of  Made- 
moiselle Berry.  Mademoiselle  de  Launay  begged  Bathilde 
to  recommence  the  cantata.  Bathilde  did  not  dare  to 
refuse;  she  played  and  sang  like  an  angel.  Madame  du 
Maine  joined  her  prayers  to  those  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Launay.  You  know,  chevalier,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
refuse  Madame  du  Maine  anything. 

"Poor  Bathilde  was  obliged  to  give  way,  and  half 
laughing,  half  crying,  she  consented,  on  two  conditions. 
The  first,  that  she  might  go  herself  to  her  friend  Buvat 
to  explain  her  absence;  the  second,  that  she  might  remain 
at  home  all  that  evening  and  the  next  morning  in  order  to 
study  the  unfortunate  cantata.  These  clauses,  after  a 
long  discussion,  were  granted,  with  reciprocal  promises, 
on  Bathilde's  part  that  she  would  return  at  seven  o'clock 
the  next  evening,  on  the  part  of  Mademosielle  de  Launay 
and  Madame  du  Maine  that  every  one  should  continue  to 
believe  that  it  was  Mademosielle  Berry  who  sung." 

"But  then,"  asked  D'Harmental,  "how  was  the  secret 
betrayed  ? " 


JEALOUSY.  259 

"Oh!  by  an  unforeseen  circumstance,"  replied  Brigand, 
in  that  strange  manner  which  caused  one  to  doubt  if  he 
was  in  jest  or  earnest.  "All  went  off  capitally,  as  you 
know,  till  the  end  of  the  cantata,  and  the  proof  is,  that, 
having  only  heard  it  once,  you  are  able  to  remember  it 
from  one  end  to  the  other.  At  the  moment  the  galley 
which  brought  us  from  the  pavilion  of  Aurora  touched  the 
shore,  whether  from  emotion  at  having  sung  for  the  first 
time  in  public,  or  that  she  recognised  among  Madame  du 
Maine's  suite  some  one  she  had  not  expected  to  see  there, 
for  some  unknown  reason,  however,  the  poor  Goddess  of 
Night  uttered  a  cry  and  fainted  in  the  arms  of  the  Hours, 
her  companions.  All  promises  and  oaths  were  at  once 
forgotten;  her  veil  was  removed  to  throw  water  in  her 
face,  so  that  when  I  came  up,  whilst  you  were  going  away 
with  her  Highness,  I  was  much  astonished  to  find,  instead 
of  Mademoiselle  Berry,  your  pretty  neighbour.  I  ques- 
tioned Mademoiselle  de  Launay,  and,  as  it  was  impossible 
any  longer  to  keep  the  incognito,  she  told  me  what  had 
passed,  under  the  seal  of  secrecy,  which  I  have  betrayed 
for  you  only,  my  dear  pupil,  because,  I  do  not  know  why, 
I  can  refuse  you  nothing." 

"And  this  indisposition?"  asked  D'Harmental  with 
uneasiness. 

"  Oh  !  it  was  nothing  ;  a  mere  momentary  emotion  which 
had  no  bad  consequences,  since,  in  spite  of  all  they  could 
say  to  the  contrary,  Bathilde  would  not  remain  another 
hour  at  Sceaux,  but  insisted  on  returning,  so  that  they  put 
a  carriage  at  her  disposal,  and  she  ought  to  have  been 
home  an  hour  before  us." 

"Then  you  are  sure  she  is  at  home?  Thanks,  abbé,  that 
is  all  I  wished  to  know." 

"And  now,"  said  Brigaud,  "I  may  go,  may  I  not?  You 
have  no  more  need  of  me,  now  that  you  know  all  you  wish 
to  know." 

"I  do  not  say  so,  my  dear  Brigaud;  on  the  contrary, 
stop,  you  will  give  me  great  pleasure." 


1^60  THE   CHEVALIER   D'hARMENTAL. 

"No  I  thank  you;  I  liave  got  some  business  of  my  own 
to  transact  in  the  town,  and  will  leave  you  to  your  reflec- 
tions, my  clear  pupil." 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?"  asked  D'Harmental, 
mechanically. 

"Most  likely  to-morrow,"  answered  the  abbé. 

"Adieu  till  to-inorrow,  then." 

"Till  to-morrow." 

So  saying,  the  abbé  tui-ned  round,  laughing  his  peculiar 
laugh,  and  reached  the  door  while  D'Harmental  was  re- 
opening his  window,  determined  to  remain  there  till  the 
next  day,  if  necessary,  and  only  desiring,  as  a  reward  for 
this  long  watch,  to  catch  a  single  glimpse  of  Bathilde. 

The  poor  gentleman  was  in  love  over  head  and  ears. 


A  PRETEXT.  261 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


A   PRETEXT. 


At  a  few  minutes  past  four  D'Harmental  saw  Buvat  turn- 
ing the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu.  The  chevalier 
thought  he  could  recognise  in  the  worthy  writer  an  air  of 
greater  haste  than  usual,  for  instead  of  holding  his  stick 
perpendicularly,  as  a  bourgeois  always  does  when  he  is 
walking,  he  held  it  horizontally,  like  a  runner.  As  to 
that  air  of  majesty  which  had  so  struck  Monsieur  Boni- 
face, it  had  entirely  vanished,  and  had  given  place  to  a 
slight  expression  of  uneasiness.  He  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. Buvat  would  not  return  so  quickly  if  he  was  not 
uneasy  about  Bathilde.     Bathilde,  then,  was  suffering. 

The  chevalier  followed  Buvat  with  his  eyes  till  the 
moment  when  he  disappeared  in  his  own  door.  D'Har- 
mental, with  reason,  imagined  that  Buvat  would  go  into 
Bathilde's  room,  instead  of  mounting  to  his  own,  and  he 
hoped  that  Buvat  would  open  the  window  to  admit  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun,  which  had  been  caressing  it  all  day. 

But  D'Harmental  was  wrong;  Buvat  contented  himself 
with  raising  the  curtain,  and  pressing  his  good  round  face 
against  the  window,  and  drumming  on  the  panes  with  his 
hands  ;  but  even  this  apparition  was  of  short  duration,  for 
he  turned  round  suddenly,  as  a  man  does  when  any  one 
calls  him,  and  let  fall  the  muslin  curtain  behind  him  and 
disappeared.  D'Harmental  presumed  that  his  disappear- 
ance was  caused  by  some  appeal  to  his  appetite,  and  this 
reminded  him  that,  in  his  preoccupation  about  the  obsti- 
nacy of  that  unlucky  window  in  refusing  to  open,  he  had 
forgotten  his  own  breakfast,  which,  it  must  be  confessed, 
to  the  shame  of  his  sensibility,  was  a  very  great  infraction 


262  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

OU  his  habits.  Now,  however,  as  there  was  no  chance 
that  the  window  woukl  open  while  his  neighbours  were  at 
dinner,  the  chevalier  determined  to  profit  by  the  interval 
by  dining  himself;  consequently  he  rang  for  the  porter, 
and  ordered  him  to  get  from  the  confectioner  the  fattest 
pullet,  and  from  the  fruiterer  the  finest  fruit  that  he  could 
find.  As  to  wine,  ho  had  still  got  some  bottles  of  that 
which  the  Abbé  Brigand  had  sent  him. 

D'Harmental  ate  with  a  certain  remorse.  He  could  not 
understand  how  he  could  be  at  the  same  time  so  tormented, 
and  have  such  a  good  appetite.  Luckily  he  remembered 
reading  in  the  works  of  some  moralist  or  other  that  sorrow 
sharpened  hunger  wonderfully.  This  maxim  set  his  con- 
science at  rest,  and  the  result  was,  that  the  unfortunate 
pullet  was  eaten  up  to  the  very  bones. 

Although  the  act  of  dining  was  very  natural,  and  by  no 
means  reprehensible,  D'Harmental  shut  the  window,  leav- 
ing, however,  a  corner  of  the  curtain  raised,  and,  thanks 
to  this  precaution,  he  saw  Buvat  —  who  had  doubtless 
finished  his  repast  —  appear  at  the  window  of  his  terrace. 
As  we  have  said,  the  weather  was  splendid,  and  Buvat 
seemed  disposed  to  profit  by  it;  but  as  he  belonged  to  that 
class  of  beings  who  enjo}^  nothing  alone,  he  turned  round 
with  a  gesture,  which  D'Harmental  took  to  be  an  invita- 
tion to  Bathilde  —  who  had  doubtless  followed  him  into 
his  room  —  to  come  on  to  the  terrace  to  him;  consequently 
he  hoped  for  an  instant  that  Bathilde  would  appear,  and 
he  rose  with  a  beating  heart;  but  he  was  mistaken.  How- 
ever tempting  might  be  the  beautiful  evening,  and  however 
pressing  the  invitations  of  Buvat,  both  were  useless;  but 
it  was  not  thus  with  Mirza,  who,  jumping  out  of  the 
window  without  being  invited,  began  to  bound  jo3''ously 
about  the  terrace,  holding  in  her  mouth  a  purple  ribbon, 
which  she  caused  to  flutter  like  a  streamer,  and  which 
D'Harmental  recognised  as  the  one  which  had  fastened 
his  neighbour's  veil  on  the  preceding  night.  Apparently 
Buvat  recognised  it  also,  for  he  started  off  in  pursuit  of 


A    PRETEXT.  263 

Mirza  as  fast  as  his  little  legs  would  allow  him;  a  pursuit 
which  would  doubtless  have  been  indefinitely  prolonged, 
if  Mirza  had  not  had  the  imprudence  to  take  refuge  in  the 
arbour.  Buvat  pursued,  and  an  instant  afterwards  D'Har- 
mental  saw  him  return  with  the  ribbon  in  his  hand;  after 
smoothing  it  on  his  knee,  he  folded  it  up,  and  went  in, 
probably  to  deposit  it  in  a  place  of  safety. 

This  was  the  moment  that  the  chevalier  had  waited  for; 
he  opened  his  window  and  watched.  In  a  minute  he  saw 
Mirza  put  her  head  out  of  the  arbour,  look  about  her,  and 
jump  on  to  the  terrace;  then  D'Harmental  called  her  in 
the  most  caressing  and  seductive  tone  possible.  Mirza 
trembled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  then  directed  her  eyes 
towards  him.  At  the  first  look  she  recognised  the  man  of 
the  bits  of  sugar,  —  gave  a  little  growl  of  joy,  — then,  with 
a  rapid  gastronomic  instinct,  she  darted  through  Buvat's 
window  with  a  single  bound,  and  disappeared. 

D'Harmental  lowered  his  head,  and,  almost  at  the  same 
instant,  saw  Mirza  coming  across  the  street  like  a  flash  of 
lightning,  and  before  he  had  time  to  shut  his  window 
she  was  already  scratching  at  the  door.  Luckily  for 
D'Harmental,  Mirza  had  the  memory  of  sugar  as  strongly 
developed  as  he  had  that  of  sounds. 

It  will  be  easily  understood  that  the  chevalier  did  not 
make  the  charming  little  creature  wait;  and  she  darted 
into  the  room,  bounding,  and  giving  the  most  unequivocal 
signs  of  her  joy  at  his  unexpected  return.  As  to  D'Har- 
mental, he  was  almost  as  happy  as  if  he  had  seen  Bathilde. 
.Mirza  was  something  to  the  young  girl;  she  was  her 
dearly  loved  greyhound,  so  caressed  and  kissed  by  her, 
who  laid  his  head  on  her  knees  during  the  day,  and  slept 
on  the  foot  of  her  bed  during  the  night.  The  chevalier 
set  Mirza  to  eat  sugar,  and  sat  down,  and,  letting  his  heart 
speak  and  his  pen  flow,  wrote  the  following  letter  :  — 

Dearest  Bathilde,  — You  believe  me  very  guilty,  do  you  not? 
But  you  cannot  know  the  strange  circumstances  in  which  I  find 
myself,  and  which  are  my  excuse.     If  I  could  be  happy  enough  to 


264  THE   ClIEVALIEK    iJ'il ALIMENTA L. 

see  you  for  an  iusLant  —  even  for  an  instant — -you  would  understand 
that  there  are  in  nie  two  diiïerent  persons,  —  the  young  student  of 
the  attic,  and  the  gentleman  of  the  fetes  at  Sceaux.  Open  your 
window,  then,  so  that  I  may  see  you,  or  your  door,  so  that  I  may 
speak  to  you.  Let  me  come  and  sue  for  your  pardon  on  my  knees. 
1  am  certain  that,  wlien  you  know  huw  unfortunate  I  am  and 
how  devotedly  1  love  you,  you  will  have  pity  on  me. 

Adieu,  once  more,  i  love  you  more  than  I  can  express,  —  more 
than  you  can  believe,  more  than  you  can  ever  imagine. 

Raoul. 

This  billet,  which  would  have  appeared  very  cold  to  a 
woman  of  these  days,  because  it  only  said  just  what  the 
writer  intended,  seemed  sufficient  to  the  chevalier,  and 
was  really  impassioned  for  the  epoch;  thus  D'Harmental 
folded  it  up,  and  attached  it,  as  he  had  the  first,  to  Mirza's 
collar  ;  then,  taking  up  the  sugar,  which  the  greedy  little 
animal  followed  with  her  eyes  to  the  cupboard,  where 
L)'Harmental  shut  it  up,  the  chevalier  opened  the  door  of 
his  room,  and  showed  Mirza,  with  a  gesture,  what  there 
remained  for  her  to  do.  Whether  it  was  pride  or  intelli- 
gence, the  little  creature  did  not  wait  to  be  told  twice; 
darted  out  on  the  staircase  as  if  she  had  wings,  and  only 
stopped  on  the  way  to  bite  Monsieur  Boniface,  whom  she 
met  coming  home  from  his  office,  crossed  the  road,  and 
disappeared  in  Bathilde's  house.  D'Harmental  remained 
at  the  window  for  a  minute,  fearing  that  Mirza  would  take 
his  note  to  Buvat  instead  of  Bathilde,  but  she  was  too 
intelligent  for  that,  and  he  soon  saw  her  appear  in 
Bathilde's  room.  Consequently,  in  order  not  to  frighten 
poor  Bathilde  too  much,  he  shut  his  window,  hoping  that 
by  this  concession  he  should  obtain  some  sign  which  would 
indicate  to  him  that  he  was  pardoned. 

But  it  did  not  turn  out  so.  D'Harmental  waited  in 
vain  all  the  evening,  and  a  great  part  of  the  night.  At 
eleven  o'clock,  the  light  scarcely  seen  through  the  double 
curtains,  still  hermetically  closed,  went  out  altogether, 
and  D'Harmental  was  obliged  to  renounce  the  hope  of 
seeing  Bathilde  till  the  next  day. 


A   PKETEXT,  265 

The  next  day  brought  the  same  rigour;  it  was  a  settled 
plan  of  defence,  which,  with  a  man  less  in  love  than 
D'Harmental,  would  simply  have  indicated  fear  of  defeat; 
but  the  chevalier,  with  a  simplicity  worthy  of  the  age  of 
gold,  saw  nothing  but  a  coldness,  in  the  eternity  of  which 
he  began  to  believe,  and  it  is  true  that  it  had  lasted  four 
and  twenty  hours. 

D'Harmental  passed  the  morning  in  turning  in  his  mind 
a  thousand  projects,  each  more  absurd  than  the  preceding 
one.  The  only  one  which  had  common  sense  was  to  cross 
the  street,  mount  boldly  to  Bathikle's  room,  and  tell  her 
everything.  It  came  to  his  mind  like  all  the  rest;  and  as 
it  was  the  only  reasonable  one,  D'Harmental  did  well  to 
stop  at  it.  However,  it  would  be  a  great  boldness  to 
present  himself  thus  before  Bathilde,  without  being  au- 
thorised by  the  least  sign,  and  without  having  any  pretext 
to  give.  Such  a  course  of  conduct  could  but  wound 
Bathilde,  who  was  only  too  much  irritated  already;  it  was 
better  to  wait  then,  and  D'Harmental  waited.  At  two 
o'clock  Brigand  returned,  and  found  D'Harmental  in  a 
very  savage  state  of  mind.  The  abbé  threw  a  glance 
towards  the  window,  still  hermetically  closed,  and  divined 
everything.  He  took  a  chair,  and  sat  down  opposite 
D'Harmental,  tAvisting  his  thumbs  round  each  other,  as 
he  saw  the  chevalier  doing. 

"My  dear  pupil,"  said  he,  after  an  instant's  silence, 
"either  T  am  a  bad  physiognomist,  or  I  read  on  your  face 
that  something  profoundly  sad  has  happened  to  you." 

"And  you  read  right,  my  dear  abbé,"  said  the  chevalier; 
"I  am  ennuied." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  " 

"So  much  so,"  said  D'Harmental,  "that  I  am  ready  to 
send  your  conspiracy  to  the  devil." 

"  Oh,  chevalier,  one  must  not  throw  the  helve  after  the 
hatchet!  What!  send  the  conspiracy  to  the  devil,  when 
it  is  going  on  wheels  !  Nonsense  ;  and  what  will  the 
others  say  ?  " 


266  THE    CHEVALIKR    D'JIARMKNTAL. 

"Oh,  you  are  charming,  you  and  your  others.  The 
others,  my  dear  abbé,  have  society,  balls,  the  opera,  duels, 
mistresses,  amusements  in  fact,  and  they  are  not  shut  up 
like  me  in  a  nasty  garret." 

"Yes;  but  the  piano,  the  drawing  ?" 

"Even  with  this,  it  is  not  amusing." 

"Ah,  it  is  not  amusing  when  one  sings  or  draws  alone; 
but  when  one  sings  or  draws  in  company,  it  begins  to  do 
better." 

"And  with  whom,  in  the  devil's  name,  should  I  sing  or 
draw?" 

"In  the  first  place,  there  are  the  Demoiselles  Denis." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  sing  beautifully  and  draw  well,  do  they 
not  ?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  I  do  not  propose  them  to  you  as  virtuosos 
and  artists;  they  have  not  the  talents  of  your  neighbour. 
But,  by  the  bye,  there  is  your  neighbour." 

"Well,  my  neighbour  ?" 

"Why  do  you  not  sing  with  her,  since  she  sings  so  well  ? 
That  will  amuse  you." 

"Do  I  know  her?  Does  she  even  open  her  window? 
Look,  since  yesterday  she  has  barricaded  herself  m  her 
own  room.     Ah,  yes,  my  neighbour  is  amiable." 

"Yes,  they  told  me  that  she  was  charming." 

"Besides,  it  seems  to  me  that,  both  singing  in  our  own 
rooms,  we  should  have  a  singular  duet." 

"Then  go  to  her  room." 

"  To  her  room  !  Have  I  been  introduced  to  her  ?  Do  I 
know  her  ?  " 

"Well,  make  a  pretext." 

"I  have  been  searching  for  one  since  yesterday." 

"And  you  have  not  found  one,  — a  man  of  imagination 
like  you  ?     My  dear  pupil,  I  do  not  recognise  you  there." 

"  Listen,  abbé  !  A  truce  to  your  pleasantries,  —  I  am 
not  in  the  humour  for  them  to-day  :  every  one  has  his  stu- 
pid days." 

"Well,  on  those  days  one  addresses  one's  self  to  one's 
friends." 


A    PRETEXT.  267 

"To  one's  friends  —  and  what  for  ?" 

"To  find  the  pretext  whicli  one  has  sought  for  vainly 
one's  self." 

"Well,  then,  abbé,  you  are  my  friend;  find  the  pretext. 
I  wait  for  it." 

"Nothing  is  easier." 

"Really!" 

"  Do  you  want  it  ?  " 

"Take  care  what  you  engage  to  do." 

"I  engage  to  open  your  neighbour's  door  to  you.** 

"  In  a  proper  manner  ?  " 

"  How  !  do  I  know  any  others  ?  " 

"Abbé,  I  will  strangle  you  if  your  pretext  is  bad." 

"But  it  is  good." 

"Then  you  are  an  adorable  man." 

"You  remember  what  the  Comte  de  Laval  said  about  the 
descent  which  the  police  have  made  upon  the  house  in  the 
Val-de-Grace,  and  the  necessity  he  was  under  of  sending 
away  his  workmen  and  burying  his  press." 

"Perfectly." 

"You  remember  the  determination  which  was  come  to 
in  consequence  ?  " 

"To  employ  a  copyist." 

"Finally,  you  remember  that  I  undertook  to  find  that 
copyist  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"Well,  this  copyist  on  whom  I  had  cast  my  eyes,  this 
honest  man  whom  I  promised  to  discover,  is  discovered, 
and  is  no  other  than  the  guardian  of  Bathilde." 

"Buvat?" 

"  Himself  !  Well,  I  give  you  full  powers  :  you  go  to  his 
house,  you  offer  him  gold,  the  door  is  opened  to  you  on 
the  instant,  and  you  can  sing  as  much  as  you  like  with 
Bathilde." 

"My  dear  abbé,"  cried  D'Harmental,  "you  have  saved 
my  life  !  " 

D'Harmental  took  his  hat  and  darted  towards  the  door; 
now  that  he  had  a  pretext,  he  doubted  of  nothing. 


268  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  Brigaud;  "you  do  uot  even  ask  me 
where  the  good  man  must  go  for  the  papers  in  question." 

"  To  your  house,  pardleu  !  " 

"Certainly  not,  young  man,  certainly  not." 

"Where  then  ?" 

"At  the  Prince  de  Listhnay's,  Rue  du  Bac,  110." 

"The  Prince  de  Listhnay!     And  who  is  he  .<*" 

"  One  of  our  own  making,  —  D' Avranches,  the  valet  de 
chambre  to  Madame  du  Maine." 

"  And  you  think  that  he  will  play  his  part  well  ?  " 

"Not  for  you,  perhaps,  who  are  accustomed  to  see 
princes,  but  for  Buvat." 

"You  are  right.     Au  revoir,  abbé  !  " 

"  You  find  the  pretext  good  ?  " 

"Capital." 

"Go,  then,  and  good  luck  go  with  you." 

D'Harmental  descended  the  stairs  four  at  a  time;  then, 
having  arrived  at  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  seeing  the 
abbé  watching  him  from  the  window,  he  made  a  parting 
sign  to  him  with  his  hand,  and  disappeared  through  the 
door  of  Bathilde's  house. 


COUNTERPLOTS.  269 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

COUNTERPLOTS. 

On  her  part,  as  may  be  easily  understood,  Bathilde  had 
not  made  such  an  effort  without  suffering  from  it;  the 
poor  child  loved  D'Harmental  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
love  at  seventeen,  a  first  love.  During  the  first  month  of 
his  absence  she  had  counted  the  days;  during  the  fifth 
week  she  had  counted  the  hours  ;  during  the  last  week  she 
had  counted  the  minutes.  Then  it  was  that  the  Abbé 
Chaulieu  fetched  her,  to  take  her  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Launay;  and  as  he  had  taken  care,  not  only  to  speak  of 
her  talents,  but  also  to  tell  who  she  was,  Bathilde  was 
received  with  all  the  consideration  which  was  due  to  her, 
and  which  poor  De  Launay  paid  all  the  more  readily  from 
its  having  been  so  long  forgotten  towards  herself. 

This  removal,  which  had  rendered  Buvat  so  proud,  was 
received  by  Bathilde  as  an  amusement  which  might  help 
her  to  pass  these  last  moments  of  suspense;  but  when  she 
found  that  Mademoiselle  de  Launay  wished  to  retain  her 
longer,  when,  according  to  her  calculation,  Raoul  would 
return,  she  cursed  the  instant  when  the  abbé  had  taken 
her  to  Sceaux,  and  would  certainly  have  refused,  if 
Madame  du  Maine  herself  had  not  interposed.  It  was 
impossible  to  refuse  a  person  who,  according  to  the  idens 
of  the  time,  from  the  supremacy  of  her  rank,  had  almost 
a  right  to  command  this  service;  but  as  she  would  have 
reproached  herself  eternally  if  Raoul  had  returned  in  her 
absence,  and  in  returning  had  found  her  window  closed, 
she  had,  as  we  have  seen,  insisted  on  returning  to  study 
the  cantata,  and  to  explain  to  Buvat  what  had  passed. 
Poor  Bathilde  !  she  had  invented  two  false  pretexts,  to 
hide,  under  a  double  veil,  the  true  motive  of  her  return 


270  THE  CHEVALIER  D'UARMENTAL. 

If  Buvat  had  been  proud  when  Bathilde  was  employed 
to  draw  the  costumes  for  the  i'Gte,  he  was  doubly  so  wlien 
he  found  that  she  was  destined  to  play  a  part  in  it.  Buvat 
had  constantly  dreamed  of  Bathilde's  return  to  fortune, 
and  to  that  social  position  of  which  her  parents'  death  had 
deprived  her,  and  all  that  brought  her  among  the  world  in 
which  she  was  born  appeared  to  him  a  step  towards  this 
inevitable  and  happy  result.  However,  the  three  days 
which  he  had  passed  without  seeing  her  appeared  to  him 
like  three  centuries.  At  the  office  it  was  not  so  bad, 
though  every  one  could  see  that  some  exti-aordinary  event 
had  happened;  but  it  was  when  he  came  home  that  poor 
Buvat  found  himself  so  miserable. 

The  first  day  he  could  not  eat,  when  he  sat  down  to  that 
table  where  for  thirteen  years  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  see  Bathilde  sitting  opposite  to  him.  The  next  day, 
when  Nanette  reproached  him,  and  told  him  that  he  was 
injuring  his  health,  he  made  an  effort  to  eat;  but  he  had 
hardly  finished  his  meal  when  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been 
swallowing  lead,  and  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the 
most  powerful  digestives  to  help  down  this  unfortunate 
dinner.  The  third  day  Buvat  did  not  sit  down  to  table  at 
all,  and  Nanette  had  the  greatest  trouble  to  persuade  hira 
to  take  some  broth,  into  which  she  declared  she  saw  two 
grea.t  tears  fall.  In  the  evening  Bathilde  returned,  and 
brought  back  his  sleep  and  his  appetite.  Buvat,  who  for 
three  nights  had  hardly  slept,  and  for  three  days  had 
hardly  eaten,  now  slept  like  a  top  and  ate  like  an  ogre. 
Bathilde  also  was  very  joyous;  she  calculated  that  this 
must  be  the  last  day  of  Raoul's  absence.  He  had  said  he 
should  be  away  six  weeks.  She  had  already  counted  forty- 
one  long  days,  and  Bathilde  would  not  admit  that  there 
could  be  an  instant's  delay;  thus  the  next  day  she  watched 
her  neighbour's  window  constantly  while  studying  the 
cantata.  Carriages  were  rare  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu, 
but  it  happened  that  three  passed  between  ten  and  four; 
each  time  she  ran  breathless  to  the  window,  and  each  time 


COUNTERPLOTS.  271 

was  disappointed.  At  four  o'clock  Buvat  returned,  and 
this  time  it  was  Batliilde  who  could  not  swallow  a  single 
morsel.  The  time  to  set  out  for  Sceaux  at  length  arrived, 
and  Batliilde  set  out  deploring  the  fate  which  prevented 
her  following  her  watch  through  the  night. 

When  she  arrived  at  Sceaux,  however,  the  lights,  the 
noise,  the  music,  and  above  all  the  excitement  of  singing 
for  the  first  time  in  public,  made  her  —  for  the  time  — 
almost  forget  Kaoul.  Now  and  then  the  idea  crossed  her 
mind  that  he  might  return  during  her  absence,  and,  finding 
her  window  closed,  would  think  her  indifferent;  but  then 
she  remembered  that  Mademoiselle  de  Launay  had  prom- 
ised her  that  she  should  be  home  before  daylight,  and 
she  determined  that  Raoul  should  see  her  standing  at  her 
window  directly  he  opened  his.  Then  she  would  explain 
to  him  how  she  had  been  obliged  to  be  absent  that  even- 
ing, she  would  allow  him  to  suspect  what  she  had  suffered, 
and  he  would  be  so  happy  that  he  would  forgive  her. 

All  this  passed  through  Bathilde's  mind  whilst  waiting 
for  Madame  du  Maine  on  the  border  of  the  lake,  and  it 
■was  in  the  midst  of  the  discourse  she  was  preparing  for 
Raoul  that  the  approach  of  the  little  galley  surprised  her. 
At  first  —  in  her  fear  of  singing  before  such  a  great  com- 
pany—  she  thought  her  voice  would  fail,  but  she  was  too 
good  an  artiste  not  to  be  encouraged  by  the  admirable 
instrumentation  which  supported  her.  She  resolved  not 
to  allow  herself  to  be  intimidated,  and,  abandoning  herself 
to  the  inspiration  of  the  music  and  the  scene,  she  went 
through  her  part  with  such  perfection  that  every  one  con- 
tinued to  take  her  for  the  singer  whom  she  replaced, 
although  that  singer  was  the  first  at  the  opera,  and  was 
supposed  to  have  no  rival.  But  Batliilde's  astonishment 
was  great,  when,  after  the  solo  was  finished,  she  looked 
towards  the  group  which  was  approaching  her,  and  saw, 
seated  by  Madame  du  Maine,  a  young  cavalier  so  much 
like  Raoul,  that,  if  this  apparition  had  presented  itself  to 
her  in  the  midst  of  the  song,  her  voice  must  have  failed 


272  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HAUMENTAL. 

her.  For  an  instant  she  doubted;  but  as  the  galley 
touched  the  shore  she  could  do  so  no  longer.  Two  such 
liknesses  could  not  exist,  — even  between  brothers;  and  it 
was  certain  that  the  young  cavalier  of  Sceaux  and  the 
young  student  of  the  attic  were  one  and  the  same  person. 

This  was  not,  however,  what  wounded  Bathilde;  the 
rank  which  Raoul  appeared  to  hold,  instead  of  removing; 
him  from  the  daughter  of  Albert  du  Eoeher,  only  brought 
him  nearer  to  her,  and  she  had  recognised  in  him,  at  first 
sight,  as  he  had  in  her,  the  marks  of  high  birth.  What 
wounded  her  —  as  a  betrayal  of  her  good  faith  and  an 
insult  to  her  love  —  was  this  pretended  absence,  during 
which  Raoul,  forgetting  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu,  had 
left  his  little  room  solitary,  to  mix  in  the  fêtes  at  Sceaux. 
Thus  Raoul  had  had  but  an  instant's  caprice  for  her, 
sufficient  to  induce  him  to  pass  a  week  or  two  in  an  attic, 
but  he  had  soon  got  tired  of  this  life;  then  he  had 
invented  the  pretext  of  a  journey,  declaring  that  it  was  a 
misfortune;  but  none  of  this  was  true.  Raoul  had  never 
quitted  Paris;  or,  if  he  had,  his  first  visit  had  not  been 
to  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu. 

When  Raoul  touched  the  shore,  and  she  found  herself 
only  four  steps  from  him,  and  saw  him  whom  she  had  sup- 
posed to  be  a  young  provincial  offering  his  arm,  in  that 
elegant  and  easy  manner,  to  the  proud  Madame  du  Maine 
herself,  her  strength  abandoned  her,  and,  with  that  cry 
which  had  gone  to  D'Harmental's  heart,  she  fainted.  On 
opening  her  eyes  she  found  near  her  Mademoiselle  de 
Launay,  who  lavished  on  her  every  possible  attention. 
She  wished  that,  instead  of  returning  to  Paris,  Bathilde 
should  remain  at  Sceaux,  but  she  was  in  haste  to  leave 
this  place  where  she  had  suffered  so  much,  and  begged, 
with  an  accent  that  could  not  be  refused,  to  be  allowed  to 
return,  and,  as  a  carriage  was  in  readiness  to  take  her,  she 
went  directly.  On  arriving,  Bathilde  found  Nanette  wait- 
ing for  her;  Buvat  also  had  wished  to  do  so,  but  by  twelve 
o'clock  he  was  so  sleepy  that  it  was  in  vain  he  rubbed  his 


COUNTERPLOTS.  273 

eyes,  and  tried  to  sing  his  favourite  song;  he  could  not 
keep  awake,  and  at  length  he  went  to  bed,  telling  Nanette 
to  let  him  know  the  next  morning  as  soon  as  Bathilde  was 
visible. 

Bathilde  was  delighted  to  jBnd  Xanette  alone;  Buvat's 
presence  would  have  been  very  irksome  to  her,  but  as  soon 
as  she  found  that  there  was  no  one  but  Nanette  Bathilde 
burst  into  tears.  Nanette  had  expected  to  see  her  young 
mistress  return  proud  and  joyous  at  the  triumph  which  she 
could  not  fail  to  obtain,  and  was  distressed  to  see  her  in 
this  state  ;  but  to  all  her  questions  Bathilde  replied  that  it 
was  nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  Nanette  saw  that  it  was 
of  no  use  to  insist,  and  went  to  her  room,  which  was  next 
to  Bathilde's,  but  could  not  resist  the  impulse  of  curiosity; 
and,  looking  through  the  key-hole,  she  saw  her  young  mis- 
tress kneel  down  before  her  little  crucifix,  and  then,  as  by 
a  sudden  impulse  run  to  the  window,  open  it,  and  look 
opposite.  Nanette  doubted  no  longer,  Bathilde's  grief 
was  somehow  connected  with  her  love,  and  it  was  caused 
by  the  young  man  who  lived  opposite.  Nanette  was  more 
easy;  women  pity  these  griefs,  but  they  also  know  that 
they  may  come  to  a  good  end.  Nanette  went  to  sleep 
much  more  easy  than  if  she  had  not  been  able  to  find  out 
the  cause  of  Bathilde's  tears. 

Bathilde  slept  badly;  the  first  griefs  and  the  first  joys 
of  love  have  the  same  results.  She  woke,  therefore,  with 
sunken  eyes  and  pale  cheeks.  Bathilde  would  have  dis- 
pensed with  seeing  Buvat,  but  he  had  already  asked  for 
her  twice,  so  she  took  courage  and  went  smiling  to  speak 
to  him.  Buvat,  however,  was  not  deceived;  he  could  not 
fail  to  notice  her  pale  cheeks,  and  Bathilde's  grief  was 
revealed  to  him.  She  denied  that  there  was  anything  the 
matter.  Buvat  pretended  to  believe  her,  but  went  to  the 
office  very  uneasy  and  anxious  to  know  what  could  have 
happened  to  her. 

When  he  was  gone,  Nanette  approached  Bathilde,  who 
waa   sitting   in  her  chair  with  her  head   leaning   on   her 

18 


274  THE    CHEVALIER    D  IIARMENTAL. 

hand,  and  stood  an  instant  before  her,  contemplating  her 
with  an  almost  maternal  love;  then,  finding  that  Bathilde 
did  not  speak,  she  herself  broke  silence. 

*' Are  you  suffering  still,  mademoiselle  ?  "  said  she. 

"Yes,  my  good  Nanette." 

"If  you  would  open  the  window,  I  think  it  would  do 
you  good." 

"  Oh  !  no,  Nanette,  thank  you,  the  window  must  remain 
closed." 

"You  do  not  know,  perhaps,  mademoiselle  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Nanette,  I  know." 

"  That  tlie  young  man  opposite  returned  this  morning  — " 

"  Well,  Nanette  ?  "  said  Bathilde,  raising  her  head  and 
looking  at  her  with  severity,  "what  is  that  to  me?  " 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,"  said  Nanette,  "  but  I  thought — " 

"  What  did  you  think  ?  " 

"That  you  regretted  his  absence,  and  would  be  glad  of 
his  return." 

"You  were  wrong." 

"Pardon,  mademoiselle,  but  he  appears  so  distin- 
guished." 

"Too  much  so,  Nanette;  a  great  deal  too  much  so  for 
poor  Bathilde." 

"  Too  distingished  for  you,  mademoiselle  !  "  cried  Na- 
nette, "  as  if  you  were  not  worth  all  the  noblemen  in  the 
world  !     Besides,  you  are  noble  !  " 

"I  know  what  I  appear  to  be,  Nanette,  — that  is  to  say, 
a  poor  girl,  with  whose  peace,  honour,  and  love  every 
nobleman  thinks  he  may  play  with  impunity.  You  see, 
Nanette,  that  this  window  must  be  closed.  I  must  not 
see  this  young  man  again." 

^^ Mon  Dieu!  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  you  wish,  then,  to 
kill  this  poor  young  man  with  grief  ?  This  whole  morning 
he  has  not  moved  from  his  window,  and  looks  so  sad  that 
it  is  enough  to  break  one's  heart." 

"  What  does  his  looking  sad  matter  to  me  ?  What  has 
he  to  do  with  me  ?     I  do  not  know  him.     I  do  not  even 


COUNTEKPLOTS.  275 

know  his  name.  He  is  a  stranger,  who  has  come  here  to 
stay  for  a  few  days,  and  who  to-morrow  may  go  away 
again.  If  I  had  thought  anything  of  him  I  sliould  have 
been  wrong,  Nanette;  and,  instead  of  encouraging  me  in 
a  love  which  would  be  folly,  you  ought,  on  the  contrary  — 
supposing  that  it  existed  —  to  show  me  the  absurdity  and 
the  danger  of  it." 

"  3Ion  Dieu  !  mademoiselle,  why  so  ?  you  must  love 
some  day,  and  you  may  as  well  love  a  handsome  young 
man  who  looks  like  a  king,  and  who  must  be  rich,  since  he 
does  not   do  anything." 

"  Well,  Nanette,  what  would  you  say  if  this  young  man 
who  appears  to  you  so  simple,  so  loyal,  and  so  good,  were 
nothing  but  a  wicked  traitor,  a  liar  ?  " 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  I  mademoiselle,  I  should  say  it  was 
impossible." 

"If  I  told  you  that  this  young  man  who  lives  in  an 
attic,  and  who  shows  himself  at  the  window  dressed  so 
simply,  was  yesterday  at  Sceaux,  giving  his  arm  to 
Madame  du  Maine  dressed  as  a  colonel  ?  " 

"I  should  say,  mademoiselle,  that  at  last  God  is  just  in 
sending  you  some  one  worthy  of  you.  Holy  Virgin  !  a 
colonel  !  a  friend  of  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  !  Oh,  Made- 
moiselle Bathilde,  yoii  will  be  a  countess,  I  tell  you!  and 
it  is  not  too  much  for  you.  If  Providence  gave  every  one 
what  they  deserve,  you  would  be  a  duchess,  a  princess,  a 
queen,  —  yes.  Queen  of  France  :  Madame  du  Maintenon 
was  —  " 

"I  would  not  be  like  her,  Nanette.'' 

"I  do  not  say  like  her;  besides,  it  is  not  the  king  you 
love,  mademoiselle." 

"I  do  not  love  any  one,  Nanette." 

"I  am  too  polite  to  contradict  you;  but  never  mind,  you 
are  ill;  and  the  first  remedy  for  a  young  person  who  is  ill 
is  air  and  sun.  Look  at  the  poor  flowers,  when  they  are 
shut  up,  they  turn  pale.  Let  me  open  the  window, 
mademoiselle." 


270  THE  CHEVALIER  d'harmental. 

"Nanette,  I  forbid  you;  go  to  your  work  and  leave  me." 

"  Very  well,  mademoiselle,  I  will  go,  since  you  drive  me 
away,"  said  Nanette,  lifting  the  corner  of  her  apron  to 
her  eye;  "but  if  I  were  in  that  young  man's  place  I  know 
very  well  what  I  would  do." 

"And  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  come  and  explain  myself,  and  I  am  sure  that 
even  if  he  were  wrong  you  would  excuse  him." 

"Nanette,"  said  Bathilde,  "if  he  comes,  I  forbid  you  to 
admit  him  ;  do  you  hear  ?  " 

"Very  well,  mademoiselle;  he  shall  not  be  admitted, 
though  it  is  not  very  polite  to  turn  people  away  from  the 
door." 

"Polite  or  not,  you  will  do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  Bathilde, 
to  whom  contradiction  gave  strength;  "and  now  go.  I 
wish  to  be  alone." 

Nanette  went  out. 

When  she  was  alone,  Bathilde  burst  into  tears,  for  her 
strength  was  but  pride.  She  believed  herself  the  most 
unfortunate  woman  in  the  world,  as  D'Harmental  thought 
himself  the  most  unfortunate  man.  At  four  o'clock  Buvat 
returned.  Bathilde,  seeing  the  traces  of  uneasiness  on 
his  good-natured  face,  tried  all  she  could  to  tranquillise 
him.  She  smiled,  she  joked,  she  kept  him  company  at 
table;  but  all  was  in  vain.  After  dinner  he  proposed  to 
Bathilde,  as  an  amusement  which  nothing  could  resist,  to 
take  a  walk  on  the  terrace.  Bathilde,  thinking  that  if  she 
refused  Buvat  would  remain  with  her,  accepted,  and  went 
up  with  him  into  his  room;  but  when  there,  she  remem- 
bered that  she  must  write  a  letter  of  thanks  to  the  Abbé 
Chaulieu,  for  his  kindness  in  presenting  her  to  Madame 
du  Maine;  and,  leaving  her  guardian  with  Mirza,  she 
went  down.  Shortly  after,  she  heard  Mirza  scratching  at 
the  door,  and  went  to  open  it.  Mirza  entered  with  such 
demonstrations  of  joy  that  Bathilde  understood  that  some- 
thing extraordinary  must  have  happened,  and,  on  looking 
attentively,  she  saw  the  letter  tied  to  her  collar.     As  this 


COUNTERPLOTS.  277 

was  the  second  she  had  brought,  Bathilde  had  no  difficulty 
in  guessing  the  writer.  The  temptation  was  too  strong  to 
be  resisted,  so  she  detached  the  paper  with  one  hand, 
which  trembled  as  she  remembered  that  it  probably  con- 
tained the  destiny  of  her  lite,  while  with  the  other  she 
caressed  Mirza,  who,  standing  on  her  hind  legs,  appeared 
delighted  to  become  so  important  a  personage.  Bathilde 
opened  the  letter,  and  looked  at  it  twice  without  being 
able  to  decipher  a  single  line.  There  was  a  mist  before 
her  eyes. 

The  letter,  while  it  said  a  great  deal,  did  not  say  quite 
enough.  It  protested  innocence  and  asked  for  pardon  ;  it 
spoke  of  strange  circumstances  requiring  secrecy;  but, 
above  all,  it  said  that  the  writer  was  madly  in  love.  The 
result  was,  that,  without  completely  reassuring  her,  it  yet 
did  her  good.  Bathilde,  however,  with  a  remnant  of 
pride,  determined  not  to  relent  till  the  next  day.  Since 
Raoul  confessed  himself  guilty,  he  should  be  punished. 
Bathilde  did  not  remember  that  half  of  this  punishment 
recoiled  upon  herself.  The  effect  of  the  letter,  incomplete 
as  it  was,  was  such  that,  when  Buvat  returned  from  the 
terrace,  he  thought  Bathilde  looked  infinitely  better,  and 
began  to  believe  what  she  herself  had  told  him  in  the 
morning,  —  that  her  agitation  was  only  caused  by  the 
emotion  of  the  day  before.  Buvat  went  to  his  own  room 
at  eight  o'clock,  leaving  Bathilde  free  to  retire  at  any 
hour  she  liked,  but  she  had  not  the  least  inclination  to 
sleep;  for  a  long  time  she  watched,  contented  and  happy, 
for  she  knew  that  her  neighbour's  window  was  open,  and 
by  this  she  guessed  his  anxiety.  Bathilde  at  length 
dreamed  that  Raoul  was  at  her  feet,  and  that  he  gave  her 
such  good  reasons  that  it  was  she,  in  her  turn,  who  asked 
for  pardon. 

Thus  in  the  morning  she  awoke  convinced  that  she  had 
been  dreadfully  severe,  and  wondering  how  she  could  have 
had  the  courage  to  do  so.  It  followed  that  her  first  move- 
ment was  to  run  to  the  window  and  open  it;  but  perceiv 


278  THE    CHEVALIER   D'iIARMENTAL. 

ing,  through  an  almost  imperceptible  opening,  the  young 
man  at  his  window,  she  stopped  short.  Would  not  this 
be  too  complete  an  avowal  ?  It  wouhl  be  better  to  wait 
for  Nanette  ;  she  would  open  the  window  naturally,  and 
in  this  way  her  neighbour  would  not  be  so  able  to  pride 
himself  on  his  conquest.  Nanette  arrived,  but  she  had 
been  too  much  scolded  the  day  before  about  this  window 
to  risk  a  second  representation  of  the  same  scene.  She 
took  the  greatest  pains  to  avoid  even  touching  the  cur- 
tains. Bathilde  was  ready  to  cry.  Buvat  came  down  as 
usual  to  take  his  coffee  with  Bathilde,  and  she  hoped  that 
he  at  least  would  ask  why  she  kept  herself  so  shut  up,  and 
give  her  an  opportunity  to  open  the  window.  Buvat, 
however,  had  received  a  new  order  for  the  classification 
of  some  manuscripts,  and  was  so  preoccupied  that  he  fin- 
ished his  coffee  and  left  the  room  without  once  remarking 
<;hat  the  curtains  were  closerl. 

For  the  first  time  Batiiilde  felt  almost  angry  with  him, 
and  thought  he  must  have  paid  her  very  little  attention  not 
to  discover  that  she  must  be  half  stifled  in  such  a  close 
room.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Tell  Nanette  to  open  the 
window  ?  She  would  not  do  it.  Open  it  herself  she  could 
not.  She  must  then  wait;  but  till  when  ?  Till  the  next 
day,  or  the  day  after  perhaps,  and  what  would  Raoul  think  ? 
Would  he  not  become  impatient  at  this  exaggerated  sever- 
ity ?  Suppose  he  should  again  leave  for  a  fortnight,  for  a 
month,  for  six  weeks,  — for  ever;  Bathilde  would  die,  she 
could  not  live  without  Raoul.  Two  hours  passed  thus;  Ba- 
thilde tried  everything,  —  her  embroidery,  her  harpsichord, 
her  drawing, — but  she  could  do  nothing.  Nanette  came 
in  :  a  slight  hope  returned  to  her,  but  it  was  only  to  ask 
leave  to  go  out.  Bathilde  signed  to  her  that  she  could 
go.  Nanette  was  going  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  ;  she 
would  be  away  two  hours.  What  was  she  to  do  during 
these  two  hours  ?  It  would  have  been  so  delightful  to 
pass  them  at  the  window. 

Bathilde  sat  down  and  drew  out  the  letter;  she  knew  it 


COUNTERPLOTS.  279 

by  heart,  but  yet  she  read  it  again.  It  was  so  tender,  so 
passionate,  so  evidently  from  the  heart.  Oh!  if  she  could 
receive  a  second  letter.  This  was  an  idea;  she  looked  at 
Mirza,  the  graceful  little  messenger;  she  took  her  in  her 
arms,  and  then,  trembling  as  if  she  were  about  to  commit 
a  crime,  she  went  to  open  the  outer  door.  A  young  man 
was  standing  before  this  door,  reaching  out  his  hand 
towards  the  bell.  Bathilde  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  and  the 
young  man  a  cry  of  love,  —  it  was  Raoul. 


280  THE    CHi:VALli;u   Jj'llAliMENÏAL. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   SEVENTH    HEAVEN. 

Bathilde  made  some  steps  backward,  for  she  had  nearly 
fallen  into  Ilaoul's  arms.  Raoul,  having  shut  the  door, 
followed  Bathilde  into  the  room.  Their  two  names, 
exchanged  in  a  double  cry,  escaped  their  lips.  Their 
hands  met  in  an  electric  clasp,  and  all  was  forgotten. 
These  two,  who  had  so  much  to  say  to  each  other,  yet 
remained  for  a  long  time  silent.  At  length  Bathilde 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh,  Raoul,  how  I  have  suffered  !  " 

"And  I,"  said  D'Harmental,  "who  have  appeared  to 
you  guilty,  and  am  yet  innocent  !  " 

"  Innocent  !  "  cried  Bathilde,  to  whom,  by  a  natural 
reaction,  all  her  doubts  returned, 

"  Yes,  innocent,  "  replied  the  chevalier. 

And  then  he  told  Bathilde  all  of  his  life  that  he  dared 
to  tell  her:  his  duel  with  Lafare;  how  he  had,  after  that, 
hidden  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu;  how  he  had  seen 
Bathilde,  and  loved  her;  his  astonishment  at  discovering 
successively  in  her  the  elegant  woman,  the  skilful  painter, 
tlie  accomplished  musician;  his  joy  when  he  began  to 
think  that  she  was  not  indifferent  to  him;  then  he  told 
her  how  he  had  received,  as  colonel  of  carabineers,  the  or- 
der to  go  to  Brittany,  and  on  his  return  was  obliged  to 
render  an  account  of  his  mission  to  the  Duchesse  du  Maine 
before  returning  to  Paris.  He  had  gone  directly  to 
Sceaux,  expecting  only  to  leave  his  despatches  in  passing, 
when  he  had  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  fête,  i)i 
which  he  had  been  obliged  unwillingly  to  take  a  part. 
This  recital  was  finished  by  expressions  of  regret,  and 


THE    SEVENTH    HEAVEN.  281 

such  protestations  of  fidelity  and  love  that  Bathilde 
almost  forgot  the  beginning  of  his  discourse  in  listening 
to  the  end. 

It  was  now  her  turn.  She  also  had  a  long  history  to 
tell  D'Harmental;  it  was  the  history  of  her  life.  With 
a  certain  pride  in  proving  to  her  lover  that  she  was  worthy 
of  him,  she  showed  herself  as  a  child  with  her  father  and 
mother,  then  an  orphan  and  abandoned;  then  appeared 
Buvat  with  his  plain  face  and  his  sublime  heart,  and  she 
told  all  his  kindness,  all  his  love  to  his  pupil  ;  she  passed 
in  review  her  careless  childhood  and  her  pensive  youth; 
then  she  arrived  at  the  time  when  she  first  saw  D'Har- 
mental,  and  here  she  stopped  and  smiled,  for  she  felt  that 
he  had  nothing  more  to  learn.  Yet  D'Harmental  insisted 
on  hearing  it  all  from  her  own  lips,  and  would  not  spare 
her  a  single  detail.  Two  hours  passed  thus  like  two 
seconds,  and  they  were  still  there  when  some  one  rang 
at  the  door.  Bathilde  looked  at  the  clock  which  was  in 
the  corner  of  the  room;  it  was  six  minutes  past  four; 
there  was  no  mistake,  it  was  Buvat.  Bathilde's  first 
movement  was  one  of  fear,  but  Raoul  reassured  her,  smil- 
ing, for  he  had  the  pretext  with  which  the  Abbé  Brigand 
had  furnished  him.  The  two  lovers  exchanged  a  last 
grasp  of  the  hand,  then  Bathilde  went  to  open  the  door 
to  her  guardian,  who,  as  usual,  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head, then,  on  entering  the  room,  perceived  D'Harmental. 
Buvat  was  astonished;  he  had  never  before  found  any 
man  with  his  pupil.  Buvat  fixed  on  him  his  astonished 
eyes  and  waited;  he  fancied  he  had  seen  the  young  man 
before.  D'Harmental  advanced  towards  him  with  that  ease 
of  which  people  of  a  certain  class  have  not  even  an  idea. 

"It  is  to  Monsieur  Buvat,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  the 
honour  of  speaking  ?  " 

"To  myself,  sir,"  said  Buvat,  starting  at  the  sound  of 
a  voice  which  he  thought  he  recognised;  "but  the  honour 
is  on  my  side." 

"  You  know  the  Abbé  Brigaud?  "  continued  D'Harmental, 


282  THE  ciip:valikr  d'harmental, 

"  Yes,  perfectly,  monsieur,  —  the  —  that  —  the  —  of 
Madame  Denis,  is  he  nut  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  D'Harmental,  smiling;  "the  confessor 
to  Madame  Denis." 

"Yes,  I  know  him.     A  clever  man." 

"  Did  you  not  once  apply  to  him  to  get  some  copies  to 
make  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur,  for  I  am  a  copyist,  at  your  service." 

"Well,"  said  D'Harmental,  "this  dear  Abbé  Brigand, 
who  is  my  guardian  (that  you  may  know  whom  you  are 
speaking  to),  has  found  an  excellent  customer  for  you." 

"Ah!  truly;  pray  take  a  seat,  monsieur." 

"Thank   you." 

"  And  who  is  the  customer  ?  " 

"The  Prince  de  Listhnay,  Rue  du  Bac,  110." 

"  A  prince,  monsieur,  a  prince  !  " 

"Yes;  a  Spaniard,  who  is  in  correspondence  with  the 
Madrid  Mercury,  and  sends  all  the  news  from  Paris." 

"Oh!  that  is  a  great  honour." 

"It  will  give  you  some  trouble,  however,  for  all  the 
despatches  are  in  Spanish." 

"DmôZe/"  said  Buvat. 

"Do  you  know  Spanish  ?"  asked  D'Harmental. 

"No,  monsieur;  I  do  not  think  so,  at  least." 

"Never  mind,"  continued  the  chevalier,  smiling;  "one 
need  not  know  a  language  to  copy  it." 

"I  could  copy  Chinese,  monsieur;  caligraphy,  like  draw- 
ing, is  an  imitative  art." 

"And  I  know  that  in  this  respect.  Monsieur  Buvat," 
replied  D'Harmental,  "you  are  a  great  artist." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Buvat,  "you  embarrass  me.  May  I 
ask,  without  indiscretion,  at  what  time  I  shall  find  his 
highness  ?  " 

"  What  highness  ?  " 

"  His  highness  the  prince,  —  I  do  not  remember  the 
name  you  said,"  replied  Buvat. 

"Ah!  the  Prince  de  Listhnay." 


THE    SEVENTH    HEAVEN.  283 

"Himself." 

"He  is  not  highness,  my  dear  Monsieur  Buvat." 

"Oh !  I  thought  all  princes  —  " 

"  This  is  only  a  prince  of  the  third  order,  and  he  will 
be  quite  satisfied  if  you  call  him  monseigneur." 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  " 

"And  when  shall  I  find  him  ?" 

"After  your  dinner;  from  five  to  half-past  five.  You 
remember  the  address  ?  " 

"Yes;  Rue  du  Bac,  110.     I  will  be  there,  monsieur." 

"Now,"  said  D'Harmental,  "aw  revoir!  And  you,  made- 
moiselle," said  he,  turning  toBathilde,  "receive  my  thanks 
for  your  kindness  in  keeping  me  company  while  I  waited 
for  Monsieur  Buvat,  —  a  kindness  for  which  I  shall  be 
eternally  grateful." 

And  D'Harmental  took  his  leave,  while  Bathilde  re- 
mained astonished  at  his  ease  and  assurance  in  such  a 
Kituation. 

"This  young  man  is  really  very  amiable,"  said  Buvat. 

"Yes,  very,"  said  Bathilde,  mechanically. 

"But  it  is  an  extraordinary  thing;  I  think  I  have  seen 
^*.im  before." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Bathilde. 

"And  his  voice,  — I  am  sure  I  know  his  voice." 

Bathilde  started;  for  she  remembered  the  evening  when 
Buvat  had  returned  frightened  from  the  adventure  in  the 
Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  and  D'Harmental  had  not  spoken 
of  that  adventure.  At  this  moment  Nanette  entered, 
announcing  dinner.  Buvat  instantly  went  into  the  other 
room. 

"Well,  mademoiselle,"  said  Nanette  softly,  "the  hand- 
some young  man  came  then,  after  all  ?  " 

"Yes,  Nanette,  yes,"  answered  Bathilde,  raising  her  eyes 
to  Heaven  with  an  expression  of  infinite  gratitude,  "  and  I 
am  very  happy.  " 

She  passed  into  the  dining-room,  where  Buvat,  who  had 


284  THE    CilKVALIEli   U'lIAKMENTAL. 

put  down  his  liat  and  stick  on  a  chair,  was  waiting  for 
her,  and  slapping  his  thighs  with  his  hands,  as  was  his 
custom  in  his  ujoments  of  extreme  satisfaction. 

As  to  D'Harmental,  lie  was  no  less  hapi)y  than  Bathilde; 
he  was  loved,  —  he  was  sure  of  it.  Bathilde  had  told  him 
so,  with  the  same  pleasure  she  had  felt  on  hearing  him 
make  the  same  declaration.  He  was  loved;  not  by  a  poor 
orphan,  not  by  a  little  grisette,  but  by  a  young  girl  of 
rank,  whose  father  and  mother  had  occupied  an  honourable 
position  at  court.  There  were,  then,  no  obstacles  to  their 
union,  there  was  no  social  interval  between  them.  It  is 
true  that  D'Harmental  forgot  the  conspiracy,  which  might 
at  any  time  open  an  abyss  under  his  feet  and  engulf  him. 
Bathilde  had  no  doubts  for  the  future;  and  when  Buvat, 
after  dinner,  took  his  hat  and  cane  to  go  to  the  Prince  de 
Listhnay's,  she  first  fell  on  her  knees  to  thank  God,  and 
then,  without  hesitation,  went  to  open  the  window  so  long 
closed.  D'Harmental  was  still  at  his.  They  had  very 
soon  settled  their  plans,  and  taken  Nanette  into  their  con- 
fidence. Every  day,  when  Buvat  was  gone,  D'Harmental 
was  to  come  and  stay  two  hours  with  Bathilde.  The 
rest  of  the  time  would  be  passed  at  the  windows,  or,  if 
by  chance  these  must  be  closed,  they  could  write  to  each 
other.  Towards  seven  o'clock  they  saw  Buvat  turning  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  Montmartre  ;  he  carried  a  roll  of  paper 
in  one  hand,  and  his  cane  in  the  other,  and  by  his  impor- 
tant air  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  spoken  to  the 
prince  himself.  D'Harmental  closed  his  window.  Ba- 
thilde had  seen  Buvat  set  out  with  some  uneasiness,  for  she 
feared  that  this  story  of  the  Prince  de  Listhnay  was  only  an 
invention  to  explain  D'Harmental's  presence.  The  joyous 
expression  of  Buvat's  face,  however,  quite  reassured  her. 

"  Well  !  "  said  she. 

"Well  !  I  have  seen  his  highness." 

"But,  you  know,"  answered  Bathilde,  "that  Monsieur 
Eaoul  said  the  Prince  de  Listhnay  had  no  right  to  that 
title,  and  was  only  a  prince  of  the  third  order." 


THE   SEVENTH    HEAVEN.  285 

"I  guarantee  him  of  the  first,"  said  Buvat,  " sahre  de 
bois!  a  man  of  five  feet  ten,  who  throws  his  money  about, 
and  pays  for  copies  at  fifteen  francs  the  page,  and  has 
given  twenty-five  louis  in  advance  !  " 

Then  another  fear  began  to  come  into  Bathilde's  mind, 
that  this  pretended  customer  whom  Kaoul  had  found  for 
Buvat  was  only  a  pretext  to  induce  him  to  accept  mone}-. 
This  fear  had  in  it  something  humiliating;  Bathilde 
turned  her  eyes  towards  D'Harmental's  window,  but  she 
saw  D'Harmental  looking  at  her  with  so  much  love  through 
the  glass,  that  she  thought  of  nothing  but  looking  at  him 
in  return,  which  she  did  for  so  long,  that  Buvat  came 
forward  to  see  what  was  attracting  her  attention;  but 
D'Harmental,   seeing  him,  let  fall  the  curtain. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Bathilde,  wishing  to  turn  off  his 
attention,  "  you  are  content  ?  " 

"Quite;  but  I  must  tell  you  one  thing." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  You  remember  that  I  told  you  that  I  thought  I  recog- 
nised the  face  and  voice  of  this  young  man,  but  could  not 
tell  you  where  I  had  seen  or  heard  them  ?  " 

"Yes,  you  told  me  so." 

"  Well,  it  suddenly  struck  me  to-day,  as  I  was  crossing 
the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  that  it  was  the  same  young 
man  whom  I  saw  on  that  terrible  night  of  which  I  cannot 
think  without  trembling." 

"  What  folly  !  "  said  Bathilde,  trembling,  however,  her- 
self. 

"I  was  on  the  point  of  returning,  however,  for  I  thought 
this  prince  might  be  some  brigand  chief,  and  that  they 
were  going  to  entice  me  into  a  cavern;  but  as  I  never 
carry  any  money,  I  thought  that  my  fears  were  exagger- 
ated, and  so  I  went  on." 

"And  now  you  are  convinced,  I  suppose,"  replied 
Bathilde,  "that  this  poor  young  man,  who  came  from  the 
Abbé  Brigand,  has  no  connection  with  him  of  the  Rue  des 
Bons  Enfants." 


286  THE  CIIEVALIEII  d'harmental. 

"Certainly  a  xjaptain  of  thieves  could  have  no  connec- 
tion with  his  highness;  and  now,"  continued  Buvat,  "you 
must  excuse  mc  if  I  do  not  stay  with  you  this  evening.  I 
promised  his  highness  to  begin  the  copies  directly,  and  I 
must  do  so." 

Buvat  went  into  his  room,  leaving  Bathilde  free  to 
resume  the  interrupted  conversation.  Heaven  only  knows 
at  what  hour  the  windows  were  closed. 


fénelon's  successor,         287 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

fénelon's  successor. 

The  events  which  were  to  rouse  our  lovers  from  their 
happy  idleness  were  preparing  in  silence.  The  Due  de 
Richelieu  had  kept  his  promise.  The  Maréchal  Villeroy, 
who  had  intended  to  remain  a  week  away  from  the  Tuile- 
ries, was  recalled  on  the  fourth  day  by  a  letter  from  his 
wife,  who  wrote  to  him  that  his  presence  was  more  than 
ever  necessary  near  the  king,  the  measles  having  declared 
itself  at  Paris,  and  having  already  attacked  several  per- 
sons in  the  Palais  Royal.  Monsieur  de  Villeroy  came 
back  directly,  for  it  will  be  remembered  that  all  those 
successive  deaths  which  three  or  four  years  before  had 
afflicted  the  kingdom  had  been  attributed  to  the  measles, 
and  the  marshal  would  not  lose  this  opportunity  of  parad- 
ing his  vigilance.  It  was  his  privilege,  as  governor  of 
the  king,  never  to  leave  him  except  by  an  order  from  him- 
self, and  to  remain  with  him  whoever  entered,  even  though 
it  was  the  regent  himself.  It  was  especially  with  regard 
to  the  regent  that  the  marshal  affected  such  extraordinary 
precaution;  and  as  this  suited  the  hatred  of  Madame  du 
Maine  and  her  party,  they  praised  Monsieur  de  Villeroy 
highly,  and  spread  abroad  a  report  that  he  had  found  on 
the  chimneypiece  of  Louis  XV.  some  poisoned  bon-bons 
which  had  been  placed  there. 

The  result  of  all  this  was  an  increase  of  calumny  against 
the  Due  d'Orléans,  and  of  importance  on  the  part  of  the 
marshal,  who  persuaded  the  young  king  that  he  owed  him 
his  life.  By  this  means  he  acquired  great  influence  over 
the  king,  who,  indeed,  had  confidence  in  no  one  but 
Monsieur  de  Villeroy  and  Monsieur  de  Fréjus.     Monsieur 


288  THE   CHEVALIER   d'hARMENTAL. 

de  Villeroy  was  then  the  man  they  wanted  for  the  message; 
and  it  was  agreed  that  the  following  Monday,  a  day  when 
the  regent  rarely  saw  the  king,  the  two  letters  of  Philip 
V.  should  be  given  to  him,  and  Monsieur  de  Villeroy 
should  profit  by  his  solitude  with  the  king  to  make  him 
sign  the  convocation  of  the  States-General,  and  that  it 
should  be  made  public  the  next  day  before  the  hour  of  the 
regent's  visit,  so  that  there  should  be  no  means  of  drawing 
back. 

Whilst  all  these  things  were  plotting  against  him,  the 
regent  was  leading  his  ordinary  life  in  the  midst  of  his 
work,  his  studies,  and  his  pleasures,  and,  above  all,  of  his 
family  bickerings.  As  we  have  said,  three  of  his  daugh- 
ters gave  him  serious  trouble.  Madame  de  Berry,  whom 
be  loved  the  best,  because  lie  had  saved  her  when  the  most 
celebrated  doctors  had  given  her  up,  throwing  off  all 
restraint,  lived  publicly  with  Riom,  whom  she  threatened 
to  marry  at  every  observation  her  father  made.  A  strange 
threat,  but  which,  if  carried  out,  would  at  that  time  have 
caused  far  more  scandal  than  the  amours  which  at  any 
other  time  such  a  marriage  would  have  sanctified. 

Mademoiselle  de  Chartres  persisted  in  her  resolution  of 
becoming  a  niin,  although  she  still,  under  her  novitiate, 
continued  to  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  she  could  manage  to 
introduce  into  the  cloister.  She  had  got  in  her  cell  her 
guns  and  pistols,  and  a  magnificent  assortment  of  fire- 
works, with  which  she  amused  her  young  friends  every 
evening;  but  she  would  not  leave  the  convent,  where  her 
father  went  every  Wednesday  to  visit  her. 

The  third  person  of  the  family  who  gave  him  uneasiness 
was  Mademoiselle  de  Valois,  whom  he  suspected  of  being 
Richelieu's  mistress,  but  without  ever  being  able  to  obtain 
certain  proof  ;  although  he  had  put  his  police  on  the 
watch,  and  had  himself  more  than  once  paid  her  visits  at 
hours  when  he  thought  it  most  probable  he  should  meet 
him.  These  suspicions  were  also  increased  by  her  refusal 
to  marry  the  Prince  de  Dombe,  an  excellent  match,    en- 


fénelon's  successor.  289 

riched  as  he  was  by  the  spoils  of  La  Grande  Mademoiselle. 
The  regent  had  seized  a  new  opportunity  of  assuring  him- 
self whether  this  refusal  were  caused  by  her  antipathy  to 
the  young  prince,  or  her  love  for  the  duke,  by  welcoming 
the  overtures  which  Pleneuf,  his  ambassador  at  Turin,  had 
made  for  a  marriage  between  the  beautiful  Charlotte  Aglaë 
and  the  Prince  de  Piedmont.  Mademoiselle  de  Valois 
rebelled  again,  but  this  time  in  vain  ;  the  regent,  contrary 
to  his  usual  easy  goodness,  insisted,  and  the  lovers  had  no 
hope,  when  an  unexpected  event  broke  it  off.  Madame,  the 
mother  of  the  regent,  with  her  German  frankness,  had 
written  to  the  Queen  of  Sicily,  one  of  her  most  constant 
correspondents,  that  she  loved  her  too  much  not  to  warn 
her  that  the  princess,  who  was  destined  for  the  young 
prince,  had  a  lover,  and  that  that  lover  was  the  Due  de 
Richelieu.  It  may  be  supposed  that  this  declaration  put 
an  end  to  the  scheme. 

The  regent  was  at  first  excessively  angry  at  this  result 
of  his  mother's  mania  for  writing  letters,  but  he  soon 
began  to  laugh  at  this  epistolary  escapade,  and  his  atten- 
tion was  called  off  for  the  time  by  an  important  subject,  — 
namely,  that  of  Dubois,  who  was  determined  to  become  an 
archbishop.  We  have  seen  how,  on  Dubois's  return  from 
London,  the  thing  had  first  been  broached  under  the  form 
of  a  joke,  and  how  the  regent  had  received  the  recom- 
mendation of  King  George;  but  Dubois  was  not  a  man  to 
be  beaten  by  a  first  refusal.  Cambray  was  vacant  by  the 
death  of  the  Cardinal  la  Tremouille,  and  was  one  of  the 
richest  archbishoprics  in  the  Church.  A  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  a  year  were  attached  to  it,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  say  whether  Dubois  was  most  tempted  by  the 
title  of  successor  to  Fenelon,  or  by  the  rich  benefice. 

Dubois,  on  the  first  opportunity,  brought  it  again  on  the 
tapis.  The  regent  again  tried  to  turn  it  off  with  a  joke, 
but  Dubois  became  more  positive,  and  more  pressing. 
The  regent,  thinking  to  settle  it,  defied  Dubois  to  find 
a  prelate  who  would  consecrate  him. 

19 


290  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

"  Is  it  only  that  ?  "  cried  Dubois,  joyously,  "  then  I  have 
the  man  at  hand." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  the  regent. 

"You  will  see,"  said  Dubois;  and  he  ran  out. 

In  five  minutes  he  returned. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  regent. 

"Well,"  answered  Dubois,  "I  have  got  him." 

"  And  who  is  the  scoundrel  who  is  willing  to  consecrate 
such  another  scoundrel  as  you  ?  " 

"Your  first  almoner,  monsieur." 

"The  Bishop  of  Nantes  !  " 

"Neither  more  nor  less." 

"Tressan  !" 

"Himself." 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"Here  he  is." 

And  at  this  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  the 
Bishop  of  Nantes  was  announced. 

"Come,"  cried  Dubois,  running  to  him,  "his  Royal  High- 
ness honours  us  both  in  naming  me  Archbishop  of  Cam- 
bray,  and  in  choosing  you  to  consecrate  me." 

"Monsieur  de  Nantes,"  asked  the  regent,  "is  it  true 
that  you  consent  to  make  the  abbé  an  archbishop  ?  " 

"Your  Highness's  wishes  are  commands  for  me." 

"Do  you  know  that  he  is  neither  deacon,  archdeacon, 
nor  priest?  " 

"Never  mind,  monseigneur,"  cried  Dubois,  "here  is 
Monsieur  de  Tressan,  who  will  tell  you  all  these  orders 
may  be  conferred  in  a  day." 

"But  there  is  no  example  of  such  a  thing." 

"Yes,  Saint  Ambloise." 

"Then,  my  dear  abbé,"  said  the  regent,  laughing,  "if 
you  have  all  the  fathers  of  the  Church  with  you,  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say,  and  I  abandon  you  to  Monsieur  de 
Tressan." 

"  I  will  give  him  back  to  you  with  the  cross  and  mitre,, 
monseigneur." 


fénelon's  successor.  291 

"But  you  must  Lave  the  grade  of  licentiate,"  continued 
the  regent,  who  began  to  be  amused  at  the  discussion. 

"I  have  a  promise  from  the  University  of  Orléans." 

"But  you  must  have  attestations." 

"Is  there  not  Besons  ?  " 

"A  certificate  of  good  life  and  manners." 

"I  will  have  one  signed  by  Noailles." 

"No,  there  I  defy  you,  abbé." 

"  Then  your  Highness  will  give  me  one.  The  signature 
of  the  regent  of  France  must  have  as  much  weight  at 
Rome  as  that  of  a  wicked  cardinal." 

"Dubois,"  said  the  regent,  "a  little  more  respect,  if 
you  please,  for  the  princes  of  the  Church." 

"  You  are  right,  monseigneur.  There  is  no  saying  what 
one  may  become." 

"  You  a  cardinal  !  "  cried  the  regent,  laughing. 

"Certainly.  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not  be  pope 
some  day." 

"Well!     Borgia  was  one." 

"May  God  give  us  both  a  long  life,  monseigneur,  and 
you  will  see  that  and  many  other  things." 

'^ Pardieu  f ''  said  the  regent,  "you  know  that  I  laugh  at 
death." 

"Alas  !   too  much." 

"Well,  you  will  make  a  poltroon  of  me  by  curiosity." 

"It  would  be  none  the  worse;  and  to  commence,  mon- 
seigneur would  do  well  to  discontinue  his  nocturnal 
excursions." 

"Why?" 

"  In  the  first  place  because  they  endanger  his  life." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  " 

"Then  for  another  reason." 

"What?" 

"Because,"  said  Dubois,  assuming  a  hypocritical  air, 
'•  they  are  a  subject  of  scandal  for  the  Church  !  " 

«Go  to  the  devil." 

"You  see,  monsieur,"  said  Dubois,  turning  to  Tressan, 


292  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HAKMENTAL. 

"in  the  midst  of  what  libertines  and  hardened  sinners  1 
am  obliged  to  live.  I  hope  that  your  Eminence  will  con- 
sider my  position,  and  will  not  be  too  severe  upon  me." 

"We  will  do  our  best,  monseigneur,"  said  Tressan. 

"And  when  ?"  asked  Dubois,  who  was  unwilling  to  lose 
an  hour. 

"As  soon  as  you  are  ready." 

"I  ask  for  three  days." 

"  Very  well  ;  on  the  fourth  I  shall  be  at  your  orders  " 

"To-day  is  Saturday.     On  Wednesday,  then." 

"On  Wednesday,"  answered  Tressan. 

"Only  I  warn  you  beforehand,  abbé,"  answered  the 
regent,  "  that  one  person  of  some  importance  will  be  absent 
at  your  consecration." 

"And  who  will  dare  to  do  me  that  injury?  " 

"I  shall." 

"You,  monseigneur!  You  will  be  there  and  in  your 
official  gallery." 

"I  say  not." 

"I  bet  a  thousand  louis." 

"And  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour." 

"I  double  my  bet." 

"  Insolent  !  " 

"On  Wednesday,  Monsieur  de  Tressan.  At  my  conse- 
cration,  monseigneur." 

And  Dubois  left  the  room  highly  delighted,  and  spread 
about  everywhere  the  news  of  his  nomination.  Still 
Dubois  was  wrong  on  one  point,  —  namely,  the  adhesion 
of  the  Cardinal  de  Noailles.  No  menace  or  promise  could 
draw  from  him  the  attestation  to  good  life  and  morals 
which  Dubois  flattered  himself  he  should  obtain  at  his 
hands.  It  is  true  that  he  was  the  only  one  who  dared  to 
make  this  holy  and  noble  opposition  to  the  scandal  with 
which  the  Church  was  menaced.  The  University  of 
Orleans  gave  the  licenses,  and  everything  was  ready  on 
the  appointed  day.  Dubois  left  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  in  a  hunting  dress,  for  Pautoix,  where  he  found 


fénelon's  successor.  293 

Monsieur  de  Tressan,  who,  according  to  his  promise, 
bestowed  on  him  the  deaconship,  the  archdeaconship,  and 
the  priesthood.  At  twelve  all  was  finished;  and  at  four, 
after  having  attended  the  regent's  council,  which  was  held 
at  the  old  Louvre  in  consequence  of  the  measles  having, 
as  we  have  said,  attacked  the  Tuileries,  Dubois  returned 
home  in  the  dress  of  an  archbishop. 

The  first  person  whom  he  saw  in  his  room  was  La 
Fillon.  In  her  double  quality  of  attachée  to  his  secret 
police  and  to  his  public  loves,  she  had  admittance  to  his 
room  at  all  hours;  and  in  spite  of  the  solemnity  of  the 
day,  as  she  had  said  that  she  had  business  of  importance 
to  communicate,  they  had  not  dared  to  refuse  her. 

*'  Ah  !  "  cried  Dubois,  on  perceiving  his  old  friend,  "  a 
lucky  meeting." 

^^  Par  dieu  !  my  dear  gossip,"  answered  La  Fillon;  *'if 
you  are  ungrateful  enough  to  forget  your  old  friends  I  am 
not  stupid  enough  to  forget  mine,  particularly  when  they 
rise  in  the  world." 

"Ah!  tell  me,"  said  Dubois,  beginning  to  pull  off  his 
sacerdotal  ornaments,  "  do  you  count  on  continuing  to  call 
me  your  gossip  now  that  I  am  an  archbishop  ?  " 

"  More  than  ever.  And  I  count  on  it  so  strongly  that 
the  first  time  the  regent  enters  my  house  I  shall  ask  him 
for  an  abbey,  that  we  may  still  be  on  an  equality  one  with 
the  other." 

"  He  comes  to  your  house  then,  the  libertine  ?  " 

"Alas  !  no  more,  my  dear  gossip.  Ah  !  the  good  time  is 
past.  But  I  hope  that,  thanks  to  you,  it  will  return, 
and  that  the  house  will  feel  your  elevation." 

"Oh,  my  poor  gossip,"  said  Dubois,  stooping  down  in 
order  that  La  Fillon  might  unclasp  his  frock,  "you  see 
that  now  things  are  much  changed,  and  that  I  can  no 
longer  visit  you  as  I  used  to." 

"You  are  proud.     Philippe  comes  there." 

"Philippe  is  only  regent  of  France,  and  I  am  an  arch- 
bishop.    Do   you  understand  ?     I  want  a   mistress   at   a 


294  THE   CHEVALIER  d'hARMENTAL. 

house  where  I  can  go  without  scandal;  like  Madame  de 
Tencin,  for  example." 

"Yes,  who  will  deceive  you  for  Richelieu." 

"  And  how,  on  the  contrary,  do  you  know  that  she  will 
not  deceive  Richelieu  for  lue  ?  " 

"  Heyday  !  and  will  she  manage  your  police  and  your 
love  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"Perhaps.  But  apropos  of  police,"  answered  Dubois, 
continuing  to  undress,  "  do  you  know  that  yours  have  slept 
infernally  during  three  or  four  months,  and  that  if  this 
continues  I  shall  be  obliged  to  withdraw  you  from  the 
superintendence  ?  " 

"Ah!  diable!^'  cried  La  Fillon;  "this  is  the  way  you 
treat  your  old  friends.  I  come  to  make  a  revelation;  well, 
you  shall  not  know  it." 

"  A  revelation  !  and  what  about  ?  " 

"Pshaw!  take  away  my  superintendence;  scoundrel  that 
you  are." 

"Is  it  relating  to  Spain?"  asked  the  archbishop  frown- 
ing, and  feeling  instinctively  that  the  danger  came  from 
there. 

"It  relates  to  nothing  at  all.     Good  evening." 

And  La  Fillon  made  towards  the  door. 

"Come  here,"  said  Dubois,  stepping  towards  his  desk; 
and  the  two  old  friends,  who  understood  each  other  so 
well,  looked  towards  each  other  and  laughed. 

"Come,  come,"  said  La  Fillon,  "I  see  that  all  is  not 
lost,  and  that  there  is  yet  some  good  in  you.  Come,  open 
this  little  desk  and  show  me  what  it  contains,  and  I  will 
open  my  mouth  and  show  you  what  I  have  in  my  heart." 

Dubois  took  out  a  rouleau  of  a  hundred  louis,  and 
showed  it  to  La  Fillon, 

"How  much  is  it?"  said  she;  "come,  tell  the  truth; 
however,  I  shall  count  after  you,  to  be  sure." 

"Two  thousand  four  hundred  francs;  that  is  a  pretty 
penny,  it  seems  to  me." 

"Yes,  for  an  abbé,  but  not  for  an  archbishop." 


fénelon's  successor.  295 

"Do  you  not  know  to  what  an  extent  the  finances  are 
involved  ?  " 

"Well,  what  does  that  matter,  you  humbug,  when  Law 
is  going  to  make  millions  for  us  ?  " 

"Would  you  like  in  exchange  ten  thousand  francs  in 
Mississippi  bonds  ?  " 

"Thanks,  my  dear,  I  prefer  the  hundred  louis;  give 
them  to  me;  I  am  a  good  woman,  and  another  day  you  will 
be  more  generous." 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  tell  me  ?     Come." 

"First  promise  me  one  thing." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  That  as  it  is  about  an  old  friend,  he  shall  come  to  no 
harm." 

"  But  if  your  old  friend  is  a  beggar  who  deserves  to  be 
hanged,  why  should  you  cheat  him  of  his  due  ?  " 

"I  have  my  own  reasons." 

"Go  along;  I  promise  nothing." 

"Well,  good  evening  then.  Here  are  the  hundred 
louis." 

"Ah!  you  are  getting  scrupulous  all  at  once." 

"Not  at  all;  but  I  am  under  obligations  to  this  man;  he 
started  me  in  the  world." 

"  He  may  boast  of  having  done  a  good  thing  for  society 
that  day." 

"Rather,  my  friend;  and  he  shall  never  have  cause  to 
repent  it,  for  I  will  not  speak  a  word  to-day  unless  his 
life  is  safe." 

"  Well,  safe  it  shall  be,  I  promise  you;  are  you  content  ?" 

"  By  what  do  you  promise  it  me  ?  " 

"On  the  faith  of  an  honest  man." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  going  to  deceive  me." 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  very  tiresome  ?  " 

"Oh!  I  am  very  tiresome.     Well,  good-bye." 

"Gossip,  I  will  have  you  arrested." 

"What  do  I  care?" 

"You  shall  be  sent  to  prison." 


296  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"That  is  a  good  joke." 

"I  will  leave  you  to  die  there." 

"Till  you  do  it  yourself.     It  will  not  be  long." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"My  captain's  life." 

"  You  shall  have  it." 

"On  what  faith?" 

"On  the  faith  of  an  archbishop." 

"I  want  a  better." 

"On  the  faith  of  an  abbé." 

"Better  still." 

"On  the  faith  of  Dubois." 

"That  will  do." 

"  First,  I  must  tell  you  that  my  captain  is  the  most  out 
at  elbows  of  any  in  the  kingdom." 

^^ Diable  !  he  has  a  rival." 

"Still,  he  will  have  the  prize." 

"Continue." 

"  Well,  you  must  know  that  lately  he  has  become  as  rich 
as  Crœsus." 

"He  must  have  robbed  some  millionnaire." 

"  Incapable.  Killed  may  be,  —  but  robbed  !  What  do 
you  take  him  for  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  money  comes  from  ?  " 

"Do  you  know  the  different  coinages  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  does  this  come  from  then  ?" 

"Ah  !  a  Spanish  doubloon." 

"And  without  alloy,  with  the  efHgy  of  King  Charles 
II.  Doubloons  which  are  worth  forty-eight  francs  if  they 
are  worth  a  penny,  and  which  run  from  his  pockets  like 
a  stream,  poor  dear  fellow." 

"And  when  did  he  begin  to  sweat  gold  ?" 

"  The  day  after  the  regent  was  nearly  carried  off  in  the 
Rue  des  Bons  Enfants.  Do  you  understand  the  apologue, 
gossip  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  why  have  you  not  told  me  before  to-day  ?  " 


fénelon's  successor.  297 

"Because  his  pockets  were  full  then;  they  are  now 
nearly  empty,  which  is  the  time  to  find  out  where  he  will 
fill  them  again." 

"And  you  wished  to  give  him  time  to  empty  them  ?" 

"Well,  all  the  world  must  live." 

"And  so  they  shall;  even  your  captain.  But  you  under- 
stand that  I  must  know  what  he  does  ?  " 

"Day  by  day." 

"And  which  of  your  girls  does  he  love  ?" 

"All  when  he  has  money." 

"  And  when  he  has  none  ?  " 

"La  Normande." 

"I  know  her;  she  is  as  sharp  as  a  needle.** 

"Yes,  but  you  must  not  reckon  on  her." 

"Why  not?" 

"She  loves  him,  the  little  fool." 

"Ah  !  he  is  a  lucky  fellow." 

"  And  he  merits  it.  He  has  got  the  heart  of  a  prince, 
not  like  you,  old  miser," 

"Oh!  you  know  that  sometimes  I  am  worse  than  the 
prodigal  son,  and  it  depends  on  you  to  make  me  so." 

"I  will  do  my  best." 

"Then  day  by  day  I  shall  know  what  your  captain 
does  ?  " 

"You  shall." 

"On  what  faith?" 

"  On  the  faith  of  an  honest  woman." 

"Something  better." 

"On  the  faith  of  Eillon." 

"That  will  do." 

"Adieu,  monseigneur  the  archbishop." 

"Adieu,  gossip." 

La  Fillon  was  going  towards  the  door,  when  at  that 
moment  an  usher  entered. 

"Monseigneur,"  said  he,  "here  is  a  man  who  wants  to 
speak  to  your  Eminence." 

"  And  who  is  he,  idiot  ?  " 


298  THE    CIIEVALlEll   d'IIAKMENTAL. 

"An  employee  of  the  royal  library,  who,  in  his  spare 
time,  makes  copies." 

"  And  what  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  He  says  that  he  has  an  important  revelation  to  make  to 
yonr  eminence." 

"  Oh!  it  is  some  poor  fellow  begging." 

"No,  monseigneur;  he  says  that  it  is  a  political  affair." 

''Diable!  about  what?" 

"Relative  to  Spain." 

"  Send  him  in;  and  you,  gossip,  go  into  this  closet." 

"What  for?" 

"  Suppose  my  writer  and  your  captain  should  know  each 
other  ? " 

"  Ah  !  that  would  be  droll." 

"Come,  get  in  quickly." 

La  Fillon  entered  the  closet  which  Dubois  showed  her. 

An  instant  afterwards  the  usher  opened  the  door,  and 
announced  Monsieur  Jean  Buvat. 

We  must  now  show  how  this  important  personage  came 
to  be  received  in  private  audience  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Cambray. 


THE   PRINCE   DE   LIbTHNAY'S   ACCOMPLICE.  299 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE   PRINCE    DE    LISTHNAy's    ACCOMPLICE. 

We  left  Buvat  going  up  to  his  own  room,  with  his  papers 
in  his  hand,  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  the  Prince  de  Listhnay, 
and  this  promise  was  so  scrupulously  kept,  that  by  seven 
o'clock  the  next  evening  the  copy  was  finished  and  taken 
to  the  Rue  du  Bac.  He  then  received  from  the  same 
august  hands  some  more  work,  which  he  returned  with  the 
same  punctuality,  so  that  the  Prince  de  Listhnay,  feeling 
confidence  in  a  man  who  had  given  such  proofs  of  exacti- 
tude, gave  him  at  once  sufficient  papers  to  necessitate  an 
interval  of  three  or  four  days  between  this  interview  and 
the  next.  Buvat  was  delighted  with  this  mark  of  confi- 
dence, and  on  his  return  set  himself  gaily  to  his  work; 
and,  although  he  found  that  he  did  not  understand  a  word 
of  Spanish,  he  could  now  read  it  fluently,  and  had  become 
so  accustomed  to  it,  that  he  felt  quite  disappointed  when 
he  found  amongst  the  copies  one  all  in  French.  It  had 
no  number,  and  almost  appeared  to  have  slipped  in  by 
mistake;  but  he  resolved,  nevertheless,  to  copy  it.  He 
began  with  these  lines  :  — 
"  Confidential. 

"  For  his  Excellency  Monsieur  Alberoni  in  person, 
''Nothing  is  more  important  than  to  make  sure  of  the 
places  near  the  Pyrenees,  and  of  the  noblemen  who  reside 
in  these  cantons." 

"  In  these  cantons  !  "  repeated  Buvat,  after  having  writ- 
ten it;  then,  taking  a  hair  from  his  pen,  he  continued:  — 
"To  gain  or  master  the  garrison  of  Bayonne." 
"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Buvat.     "  Is  not  Bayonne  a  French 
town?    Let  us  see,  —  let  us  see."     And  he  continued;  — 


300  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

"The  Marquis   cle  P is   governor  of   D .     One 

knows  the  intentions  of  that  nobleman;  when  it  is  de- 
cided, it  will  be  necessary  for  him  to  triple  his  expendi- 
ture in  order  to  attract  the  aristocracy  :  he  ought  to  scatter 
rewards. 

"In  Normandy,  Charenton  is  an  important  post.  Pursue 
the  same  course  with  the  governor  of  that  town  as  with 

the  Marquis  of  P ;  go  further,  — promise  his  officers 

suitable  rewards. 

"Do  the  same  in  all  the  provinces." 

"Hallo!"  cried  Buvat,  re-reading  what  he  had  just 
written;  "what  does  this  mean?  It  seems  to  me  that  it 
would  be  prudent  to  read  it  all  before  going  further." 

He  read  :  — 

"To  supply  this  expenditure  one  ought  to  be  able  to 
reckon  on  at  least  three  hundred  thousand  francs  the  first 
month,  and  afterwards  a  hundred  thousand  per  month, 
paid  to  the  day." 

"  Paid  to  the  day  !  "  murmured  Buvat,  breaking  off.  "  It 
is  evidently  not  by  France  that  these  payments  are  to  be 
made,  since  France  is  so  poor  that  she  has  not  paid  me  my 
nine  hundred  francs'  salary  for  five  years.  Let  us  see,  — 
let  us  see."     And  he  recommenced:  — 

"That  expenditure,  which  will  cease  at  the  peace,  will 
enable  his  Catholic  Majesty  to  act  with  certainty  in  case 
of  war. 

"Spain  will  only  be  an  auxiliary.  The  army  of  Philip 
V.  is  in  France." 

"What!  what!  what!"  cried  Buvat;  "and  I  did  not 
even  know  that  it  had  crossed  the  frontier." 

"The  army  of  Philip  V.  is  in  France.  A  body  of  about 
ten  thousand  Spaniards  is  more  than  sufficient,  with  the 
presence  of  the  king. 

"  But  we  must  be  able  to  count  on  being  able  to  seduce 
over  at  least  half  of  the  Due  d'Orléans'  army."  (Buvat 
trembled.)  "This  is  the  most  important,  and  cannot  be 
done  without  money.  A  present  of  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  is  necessary  for  each  battalion  or  squadron. 


THE   PRINCE   DE   LISTHNAY's   ACCOMPLICE.  301 

"Twenty  battalions  would  be  two  millions;  with  that 
sum,  one  might  form  a  trustworthy  army  and  destroy  that 
of  the  enemy. 

"It  is  almost  certain  that  the  subjects  most  devoted  to 
the  King  of  Spain  will  not  be  employed  in  the  army  which 
will  march  against  him.  Let  them  disperse  themselves 
through  the  provinces;  there  they  will  act  usefully.  To 
re-supply  them  with  a  character  —  if  they  have  none  —  it 
will  be  necessary  for  his  Catholic  Majesty  to  send  his 
orders  in  blank,  for  his  minister  in  Paris  to  fill  up. 

"In  consequencce  of  the  multiplicity  of  orders,  it  would 
be  better  if  the  ambassador  had  the  power  to  sign  for  the 
King  of  Spain. 

"It  would  be  well,  moreover,  if  his  Majesty  were  to 
sign  his  orders  as  a  French  prince  ;  the  title  is  his  own. 

"Prepare  funds  for  an  army  of  thirty  thousand  men, 
whom  his  Majesty  will  find  brave,  skilful,  and  disci- 
plined. 

"  This  money  should  arrive  in  France  at  the  end  of  May, 
or  the  commencement  of  June,  and  be  distributed  directly 
in  the  capitals  of  provinces,  such  as  Nantes,  Bayonne,  etc. 

"Do  not  allow  the  French  ambassador  to  leave  Spain. 
His  presence  will  answer  for  the  safety  of  those  who 
declare  themselves." 

"  Sabre  de  bois  !  "  cried  Buvat,  rubbing  his  eyes  ;  "  but 
this  is  a  conspiracy,  — a  conspiracy  against  the  person  of 
the  regent,  and  against  the  safety  of  the  kingdom.  Oh! 
oh!" 

Buvat  fell  into  profound  meditation. 

Indeed,  the  position  was  critical.  Buvat  mixed  up  in 
a  conspiracy;  Buvat  charged  with  a  state  secret;  Buvat 
holding  in  his  hands,  perhaps,  the  fate  of  nations;  a 
smaller  thing  would  have  thrown  hiiu  into  a  state  of 
strange  perplexity. 

Thus  seconds,  minutes,  hours,  flowed  away,  and  Buvat 
remained  on  his  chair,  his  head  drooping,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  floor,  and  perfectly  still.     From  time  to  time,  how- 


302  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENÏAL. 

ever,  a  deep  breath  —  like  an  expression  of  astonishment 
—  escaped  his  breast. 

Ten  o'clock,  eleven,  —  midnight  sounded.  Buvat  thought 
that  the  night  would  bring  him  aid,  and  he  determined  to 
go  to  bed.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  his  copying  came 
to  an  end,  when  lie  saw  that  the  original  was  assuming  an 
illegal  character. 

Buvat  could  not  sleep;  the  poor  fellow  tossed  from  side 
to  side,  but  scarcely  had  he  shut  his  eyes  before  he  saw 
this  horrible  plan  of  the  conspiracy  written  upon  the  wall 
in  letters  of  fire.  Once  or  twice,  overcome  by  fatigue,  he 
fell  asleep;  but  he  had  no  sooner  lost  consciousness  than 
he  dreamed,  the  first  time,  that  he  was  arrested  by  the 
watch  as  a  conspirator;  the  second,  that  he  was  stabbed 
by  the  conspirators  themselves.  The  first  time  Buvat 
awoke  trembling;  the  second  time  bathed  in  perspiration. 
These  two  impressions  had  been  so  terrible  that  he  lighted 
his  candle,  and  determined  to  wait  for  day  without  another 
attempt  to  sleep. 

The  day  came,  but,  far  from  dispelling  the  phantoms  of 
the  night,  it  only  gave  a  more  terrific  reality.  At  the 
least  noise  Buvat  trembled  Some  one  knocked  at  the 
street  door.  Buvat  thought  he  should  faint.  Nanette 
opened  his  room  door,  and  he  uttered  a  cry.  Nanette 
ran  to  him,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter,  but  he  con- 
tented himself  with  shaking  his  head  and  answering,  with 
a  sigh,  — 

"Ah,  my  poor  Nanette,  we  live  in  very  sad  times." 

He  stopped  directly,  fearing  he  had  said  too  much. 
He  was  too  preoccupied  to  go  down  to  breakfast  with 
Bathilde;  besides,  he  feared  lest  the  young  girl  should 
perceive  his  uneasiness  and  ask  the  cause;  and  as  he  did 
not  know  how  to  keep  anything  from  her,  he  would  have 
told  her  all,  and  she  would  then  have  become  his  accom- 
plice. He  had  his  coffee  sent  up  to  him,  under  pretext  of 
having  an  overwhelming  amount  of  work  to  do,  and  that 
he  was    going   to  work  during  breakfast.     As   Bathilde's 


THE    PRINCE   DE   LISTHNAY'S    ACCOMPLICE.  303 

love  profited  by  this  absence,  she  was  rather  pleased  at  it 
than  otherwise. 

A  few  minutes  before  ten  Buvat  left  for  his  office;  his 
fears  had  been  strong  in  his  own  house,  but  once  in  the 
street,  they  changed  into  terrors.  At  every  crossing,  at 
the  end  of  every  court,  behind  every  angle,  he  thought 
that  he  saw  the  police  officers  waiting  for  him.  At  the 
corner  of  the  Place  des  Victoires  a  musketeer  appeared, 
coming  from  the  Eue  Pagevin,  and  Buvat  gave  such  a 
start  on  seeing  him  that  he  almost  fell  under  the  wheels  of 
a  carriage.  At  last,  after  many  alarms,  he  reached  the 
library,  bowed  almost  to  the  ground  before  the  sentinel, 
darted  up  the  stairs,  gained  his  office,  and,  falling  ex- 
hausted on  his  seat,  he  shut  up  in  his  drawer  all  the 
papers  of  the  Prince  de  Listhnay,  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  for  fear  the  police  should  search  his  house  dur- 
ing his  absence;  and,  finding  himself  in  safety,  heaved 
a  sigh,  which  would  not  have  failed  in  denouncing  him 
to  his  colleagues  as  being  a  prey  to  the  greatest  agitation 
if  he  had  not,  as  usual,  arrived  the  first. 

Buvat  had  a  principle,  which  was,  that  no  personal  pre- 
occupation, whether  grave  or  gay,  ought  to  disturb  a  clerk 
in  the  execution  of  his  duty.  Therefore  he  set  himself  to 
his  work,  apparently  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  but  really 
in  a  state  of  moral  perturbation  impossible  to  describe. 

This  work  consisted,  as  usual,  in  classifying  and  arran- 
ging books.  There  having  been  an  alarm  of  fire  three  or 
four  days  before,  the  books  had  been  thrown  on  the  floor, 
or  carried  out  of  the  reach  of  the  flames,  and  there  were 
consequently  four  or  five  thousand  volumes  to  be  rein- 
stated in  their  proper  places  ;  and,  as  it  was  a  particularly 
tedious  business,  Buvat  had  been  selected  for  it,  and 
had  hitherto  acquitted  himself  with  an  intelligence  and 
assiduity  which  had  merited  the  commendations  of  his 
superiors,  and  the  raillery  of  his  colleagues. 

In  spite  of  the  urgency  of  the  work,  Buvat  rested  some 
minutes   to   recover   himself;  but  as   soon  as    he  saw  the 


804  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL 

door  open,  he  rose  instinctively,  took  a  pen,  dipped  it  in 
the  ink,  took  a  handful  of  parchment  labels,  and  went 
towards  the  remaining  books,  took  the  first  which  came 
to  hand,  and  continued  his  classification,  murmuring  be- 
tween his  teeth,  as  was  his  habit  under  similar  circum- 
stances. 

"The  'Breviary  of  Lovers,'  printed  at  Liege  in  1712;  no 
printer's  name.  Ah,  laon  Dieu!  what  amusement  can 
Christians  possibly  iind  in  reading  such  books  ?  It  would 
be  better  if  they  were  all  burnt  in  the  Place  de  Grève  by 
the  hand  of  the  public  hangman  !  Chut  !  what  name  have 
I  been  pronouncing  there  ?  1  wonder  who  this  Prince  de 
Listhnay,  who  has  made  me  copy  such  things,  is;  and  the 
young  man  who,  under  pretext  of  doing  me  a  service, 
introduced  me  to  such  a  scoundrel.  Come,  come,  this  is 
not  the  place  to  think  about  that.  How  pleasant  it  is 
writing  on  parchment  !  the  pen  glides  as  if  over  silk. 
What  is  the  next?" 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  the  head  clerk,  "and  what  have 
you  been  doing  for  the  last  five  minutes,  with  your  arms 
crossed,  and  your  eyes  fixed  ?  " 

"Nothing,  Monsieur  Ducoudray,  nothing.  I  was  plan- 
ning a  new  mode  of  classification." 

"  A  new  mode  of  classification  !  Are  you  turned  re- 
former? Do  you  wish  to  commence  a  revolution,  Monsieur 
Buvat  ?  " 

"I  !  a  revolution!"  cried  Buvat,  with  terror.  "A  rev- 
olution, monsieur!  —  never,  oh  never  !  Good  heavens,  my 
devotion  to  monseigneur  the  regent  is  known;  a  dis- 
interested devotion,  since  he  has  not  paid  me  for  five 
years,  as  you  know." 

"Well,  go  on  with  your  work." 

Buvat  continued:  —  "  'Conspiracy  of  Monsieur  de  Cinq- 
Mars.'  Diable!  diable!  I  have  heard  of  that.  He  was 
a  gallant  gentleman,  who  was  in  correspondence  with 
Spain,  — that  cursed  Spain.  What  business  has  it  to  mix 
itself  up  eternally  with  our  affairs?     It  is  true  that  this 


THE    PRINCE    DE    LISTHNAY'S    ACCOMPLICE.  305 

time  it  is  said  that  Spain  will  only  be  an  auxiliary;  but 
an  ally  who  takes  possession  of  our  towns,  and  who 
debauches  our  soldiers,  appears  to  me  very  much  like  an 
enemy.  '  Conspiracy  of  Monsieur  de  Cinq-Mars,  followed 
by  a  History  of  his  Death,  and  that  of  Monsieur  de  Thou, 
condemned  for  not  revealing  it.  By  an  Eye-Witness.' 
For  not  revealing!  It  is  true,  no  doubt,  for  the  law  is 
positive.  Whoever  does  not  reveal  is  an  accomplice,  — 
myself,  for  instance.  I  am  the  accomplice  of  the  Prince 
de  Listhnay;  and  if  they  cut  off  his  head,  they  will  cut 
off  mine  too.  No,  they  will  only  hang  me,  —  I  am  not 
noble.  Hanged  !  —  it  is  impossible  ;  they  would  never  go 
to  such  extremities  in  my  case  :  besides,  I  will  declare  all. 
But  then  I  shall  be  an  informer;  never  !  But  then  I  shall 
be  hanged  ;  oh,  oh  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Buvat  ?  "  said  a  clerk  ;  "  you  are 
strangling  yourself  by  twisting  your  cravat." 

"1  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,"  said  Buvat,  "I  did  it 
mechanically;  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you." 

Buvat  stretched  out  his  hand  for  another  book.  '"Con- 
spiracy of  the  Chevalier  Louis  de  Rohan.'  Oh,  I  come  to 
nothing  but  conspiracies!  'Copy  of  a  Plan  of  Government 
found  amongst  the  Papers  of  Monsieur  de  Rohan,  and 
entirely  written  by  Van  der  Enden.'  Ah,  mon  Dieu!  yes. 
That  is  just  my  case.  He  was  hanged  for  having  copied 
a  plan.  Oh,  I  shall  die  !  '  Procès-verbal  of  the  Torture  of 
Francis-Affinius  Van  der  Enden.'  If  they  read  one  day, 
at  the  end  of  the  conspiracy  of  the  Prince  de  Listhnay, 
*  Procès-verbal  of  the  Torture  of  Jean  Buvat  !  '  "  Buvat 
began  to  read. 

"  Well,  well,  what  is  the  matter,  Buvat  ?  "  said  Ducou- 
dray,  seeing  the  good  man  shake  and  grow  pale;  "are  you 
ill  ?  " 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Ducoudray,"  said  Buvat,  dropping  the 
book,  and  dragging  himself  to  a  seat,  "ah,  Monsieur 
Ducoudray,  I  feel  I  am  going  to  faint." 

ao 


306  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

"That  comes  of  reading  instead  of  working,"  said  an 
employee. 

"Well,  Buvat,  are  you  better?"  asked  Ducoudray. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  for  my  resolution  is  taken,  taken 
irrevocably.  It  would  not  be  just,  by  Heaven,  that  I 
should  bear  the  punishment  for  a  crime  which  I  never 
committed.  I  owe  it  to  society,  to  my  ward,  to  myself. 
Monsieur  Ducoudray,  if  the  curator  asks  for  me,  you  will 
tell  him  that  I  am  gone  out  on  pressing  business." 

And  Buvat  drew  the  roll  of  paper  from  the  drawer, 
pressed  his  hat  on  to  his  head,  took  his  stick,  and  went 
out  with  the  majesty  of  despair. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  has  gone?"  asked  the  em- 
ployee. 

"No,"  answered  Ducoudray. 

"I  will  tell  you; — to  play  at  bowls  at  the  Champs- 
Elysées,  or  at  Porcherons." 

The  employee  was  wrong;  he  had  neither  gone  to  the 
Champs-Elysées  nor  to  Porcherons.  He  had  gone  to 
Dubois. 


THE  FOX  AND  THE  GOOSE.  307 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   FOX   AND    THE   GOOSE. 

"  Monsieur  Jean  Buvat,  "  said  the  usher.  Dubois  stretched 
out  his  viper's  head,  darted  a  look  at  the  opening  which 
was  left  between  the  usher  and  the  door,  and,  behind 
the  official  introducer,  perceived  a  little  fat  man,  pale, 
and  whose  legs  shook  under  him,  and  who  coughed  to 
give  himself  assurance.  A  glance  sufficed  to  inform  Du- 
bois the  sort  of  person  he  had  to  deal  with. 

"Let  him  come  in,"  said  Dubois. 

The  usher  went  out,  and  Jean  Buvat  appeared  at  the 
door. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  said  Dubois. 

"You  do  me  honour,  monsieur,"  murmured  Buvat,  with- 
out moving  from  his  place. 

"  Shut  the  door,  and  leave  us,"  said  Bubois  to  the  usher. 
The  usher  obeyed,  and  the  door  striking  the  posterior  part 
of  Buvat  made  him  bound  a  little  way  forward.  Buvat, 
shaken  for  an  instant,  steadied  himself  on  his  legs,  and 
became  once  more  immovable,  looking  at  Dubois  with  an 
astounded  expression. 

In  truth,  Dubois  was  a  curious  sight.  Of  his  episcopal 
costume  he  had  retained  the  inferior  part;  so  that  he  was 
in  his  shirt,  with  black  breeches  and  violet  stockings. 
This  disagreed  with  all  Buvat's  preconceived  notions. 
What  he  had  before  his  eyes  was  neither  a  minister  nor 
an  archbishop,  but  seemed  much  more  like  an  ourang- 
outang  than  a  man. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  Dubois,  sitting  down  and  cross- 
ing his  legs,  and  taking  his  foot  in  his  hand,  "you  have 
asked  to  speak  to  me.     Here  I  am." 


308  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"  That  is  to  say,  "  said  Buvat,  "  I  asked  to  speak  to 
Monseigneur  the  Archbishop  of  Cambray." 

"Well,  I  am  he." 

"  How  !  you  monseigneur  ?  "  cried  Buvat,  taking  his  hat 
in  both  hands,  and  bowing  almost  to  the  ground  ;  "  excuse 
me,  but  I  did  not  recognise  your  Eminence.  It  is  true 
that  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  had  the  honour  of  seeing 
you.  Still  —  hum  !  —  at  that  air  of  majesty  —  hum,  hum  ! 
—  I  ought  to  have  understood  —  " 

"  Your  name  ?  "  asked  Dubois,  interrupting  the  good 
man's  compliments. 

"Jean  Buvat,  at  your  service." 

"You  are—?" 

"An  employee  at  the  library." 

"And  you  have  some  revelations  to  make  to  me  con- 
cerning Spain  ?  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  monseigneur  —  This  is  how  it  is.  As 
my  office  work  leaves  me  six  hours  in  the  evening  and  four 
in  the  morning,  and  as  Heaven  has  blessed  me  with  a 
very  good  handwriting,  I  make  copies." 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Dubois;  "and  some  one  has 
given  you  suspicious  papers  to  copy,  so  you  have  brought 
these  suspicious  papers  to  me,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"In  this  roll,  monseigneur,  in  this  roll,"  said  Buvat, 
extending  it  towards  Dubois. 

Dubois  made  a  single  bound  from  his  chair  to  Buvat, 
took  the  roll  and  sat  down  at  a  desk,  and,  in  a  turn  of  the 
hand,  having  torn  off  the  string  and  the  wrapper,  found 
the  papers  in  question.  The  first  on  which  he  lighted 
were  in  Spanish;  but  as  Dubois  had  been  sent  twice  to 
Spain,  and  knew  something  of  the  language  of  Calderon 
and  Lope  de  Vega,  he  saw  at  the  first  glance  how  impor- 
tant these  papers  were.  Indeed,  they  were  neither  more 
nor  less  than  the  protestation  of  the  nobility,  the  list  of 
officers  who  requested  commissions  under  the  King  of 
Spain,  and  the  manifesto  prepared  by  the  Cardinal  de 
Polignac   and   the   Marquis  de    l^ompadour   to   rouse   the 


THE  FOX  AND  THE  GOOSE.  309 

kingdom.  These  different  documents  were  addressed 
directly  to  Philip  V.;  and  a  little  note  —  which  Dubois 
recognised  as  Cellamare's  handwriting  —  announced  that 
the  denouement  of  the  conspiracy  was  near  at  hand;  he 
informed  his  Catholic  Majesty,  from  day  to  day,  of  all 
the  important  events  which  could  advance  or  retard  the 
scheme.  Then  came,  finally,  that  famous  plan  of  the 
conspirators  which  we  have  alreaay  given  to  our  readers, 
and  which  —  left  by  an  oversight  amongst  the  papers 
which  had  been  translated  into  Spanish  —  had  opened 
Buvat's  eyes.  Near  the  plan,  in  the  good  man's  best 
writing,  was  the  copy  which  he  had  begun  to  make,  and 
which  was  broken  off  at  the  words,  "  Act  thus  in  all  the 
provinces." 

Buvat  had  followed  all  the  working  of  Dubois's  face  with 
a  certain  anxiety;  he  had  seen  it  pass  from  astonishment 
to  joy,  then  from  joy  to  impassibility.  Dubois,  as  he 
continued  to  read,  had  passed,  successively,  one  leg  over 
the  other,  had  bitten  his  lips,  pinched  the  end  of  his  nose, 
but  all  had  been  utterly  untranslatable  to  Buvat,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  reading  he  understood  no  more  from  the 
face  of  the  archbishop  than  he  had  understood  at  the  end 
of  the  copy  from  the  Spanish  original.  As  to  Dubois,  he 
saw  that  this  man  had  come  to  furnish  him  with  the 
beginning  of  a  most  important  secret,  and  he  was  medi- 
tating on  the  best  means  of  making  him  furnish  the  end 
also.  This  was  the  signification  of  the  crossed  legs,  the 
bitten  lips,  and  the  pinched  nose.  At  last  he  appeared 
to  have  taken  his  resolution.  A  charming  benevolence 
overspread  his  countenance,  and  turning  towards  the 
good  man,  who  had  remained  standing  respectfully,  — 

"Take  a  seat,  my  dear  Monsieur  Buvat,"  said  he. 

"Thank  you,  monseigneur,"  answered  Buvat,  trembling; 
"I  am  not  fatigued." 

"Pardon,  pardon,"  said  Dubois,  "but  your  legs  shake." 

Indeed,  since  he  had  read  the  procès-verbal  of  the  ques- 
tion of  Van  der  Enden,  Buvat  had  retained  in  his  legs  a 


310  THE  ciiEVALiEu  d'harmental. 

nervous   trembling,  like  tliat  which  may  bo   observed   in 
dogs  that  have  just  had  the  distemper. 

"The  fact  is,  monseigneur,"  said  Buvat,  "that  I  do  not 
know  what  has  come  to  me  the  last  two  hours,  but  I  find 
a  great  difficulty  in  standing  upright." 

"Sit  down,  then,  and  let  us  talk  like  two  friends." 

Buvat  looked  at  Dubois  with  an  air  of  stupefaction, 
which  at  any  other  time  would  have  had  the  effect  of 
making  him  burst  out  laughing,  but  now  he  did  not  seem 
to  notice  it,  and,  taking  a  chair  himself,  he  repeated  with 
his  hand  the  invitation  which  he  had  given  with  his  voice. 
There  was  no  means  of  drawing  back;  the  good  man 
approached  trembling  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair;  put  his  hat  on  the  ground,  took  his  cane  between 
his  legs,  and  waited.  All  this,  however,  was  not  executed 
without  a  violent  internal  struggle,  as  his  face  testified, 
which,  from  being  white  as  a  lily  when  he  came  in,  had 
now  become  as  red  as  a  })eony. 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Buvat,  you  say  that  you  make 
copies?" 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

" And  that  brings  you  in  —  ?" 

"Very  little,  monseigneur,  very  little." 

"  You  have,  nevertheless,  a  superb  handwriting.  Monsieur 
Buvat." 

"  Yes,  but  all  the  world  does  not  appreciate  the  value  of 
that  talent  as  your  Eminence  does." 

"That  is  true;  but  you  are  employed  at  the  library?" 

"I  have  that  honour." 

"  And  your  place  brings  you  —  ?  " 

"Oh,  my  place,  — that  is  another  thing,  monseigneur;  it 
brings  me  in  nothing  at  all,  seeing  that  for  five  years  the 
cashier  has  told  us  at  the  end  of  each  month  that  the  king 
was  too  poor  to  pay  us." 

"And  you  still  remained  in  the  service  of  his  Majesty? 
that  was  well  done.  Monsieur  Buvat  ;  that  was  well  done.'' 

Buvat  rose,  saluted  Dubois,  and  reseated  himself. 


THE    FOX    AND    THK    GOOSE.  311 

"And  perhaps  all  the  while  you  have  a  family  to  sup- 
port,—  a  wife,  children?" 

"No,  monseigneur;  I  am  a  bachelor." 

"But  you  have  parents,  at  all  events  ?  " 

"No,  monseigneur;  but  I  have  a  ward,  a  charming 
young  person,  full  of  talent,  who  sings  like  Mademoiselle 
Berry,  and  who  draws  like  Greuze." 

"Ah,  ah!  and  what  is  the  name  of  your  ward.  Monsieur 
Buvat  ?  " 

"Bathilde, — Bathilde  du  Rocher,  monseigneur;  she  is 
a  young  person  of  noble  family;  her  father  was  squire  to 
Monsieur  the  Regent,  when  he  was  still  Due  de  Chartres, 
and  had  the  misfortune  to  be  killed  at  the  battle  of 
Almanza." 

"  Thus  I  see  you  have  your  charges,  my  dear  Buvat.  " 

"Is  it  of  Bathilde  that  you  speak,  monseigneur?  Oh, 
no,  Bathilde  is  not  a  charge;  on  the  contrary,  poor  dear 
girl,  she  brings  in  more  than  she  costs.  Bathilde  a  charge  ! 
First,  every  month  Monsieur  Papillon,  the  colour  man  at 
the  corner  of  the  Rue  Clery,  you  know,  monseigneur,  gives 
her  eighty  francs  for  two  drawings;  then  —  " 

"I  should  say,  my  dear  Buvat,  that  you  are  not  rich." 

"  Oh  !  rich,  no,  monseigneur,  I  am  not,  but  I  wish  I  was, 
for  poor  Bathilde's  sake;  and  if  you  could  obtain  from 
monseigneur,  that  out  of  the  first  money  which  comes  into 
the  state  coffers  he  would  pay  me  my  arrears,  or  at  least 
something  on  account  —  " 

"  And  to  how  much  do  your  arrears  amount  ?  " 

"  To  four  thousand  seven  hundred  francs,  two  sous,  and 
eight  centimes,  monseigneur." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Dubois. 

"  How  !  is  that  all,  monseigneur?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  nothing." 

"Indeed,  monseigneur,  it  is  a  great  deal,  and  the  proof 
is  that  the  king  cannot  pay  it." 

"  But  that  will  not  make  you  rich." 

"It  will  make  me  comfortable,  and  I  do  not   conceal 


312  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

from  you,  monseigneur,  that  if,  from  the  first  money 
which  comes  into  the  treasury  —  " 

"My  dear  Buvat,"  said  Dubois,  "I  have  something 
better  than  that  to  offer  you." 

"Offer  it,  monseigneur." 

"You  have  your  fortune  at  your  fingers'  ends." 

"My  mother  always  told  me  so,  monseigneur." 

"That  proves,"  said  Dubois,  "what  a  sensible  woman 
your  motlier  was." 

"Well,  monseigneur!  I  am  ready;  what  must  I  do  ?" 

"Ah  !  mon  Dieu!  the  thing  is  very  simple,  you  will 
make  me,  now  and  here,  copies  of  all  these." 

"  But,  monseigneur  —  " 

"That  is  not  all,  my  dear  Monsieur  Buvat.  You  will 
take  back  to  the  person  who  gave  you  tliese  papers  the 
copies  and  the  originals,  you  will  take  all  that  that  person 
gives  you;  you  will  bring  them  to  me  directly,  so  that  I 
may  read  them,  then  you  will  do  the  same  with  other 
papers  as  with  these,  and  so  on  indefinitely,  till  I  say 
enough." 

"  But,  monseigneur,  it  seems  to  me  that  in  acting  thus 
I  should  betray  the  confidence  of  the  prince." 

"Ah!  it  is  with  a  prince  that  you  have  business, 
Monsieur  Buvat  !  and  what  may  this  prince  be  called?  " 

"  Oh,  monseigneur,  it  appears  to  me  that  in  telling  you 
his  name  I  denounce  —  " 

"  Well,  and  what  have  you  come  here  for,  then  ?  " 

"Monseigneur,  I  have  come  here  to  inform  you  of  the 
danger  which  his  Highness  runs,  that  is  all." 

"Indeed,"  said  Dubois,  in  a  bantering  tone,  "and  you 
imagine  you  are  going  to  stop  there  ?  " 

"I  wish  to  do  so,  monseigneur." 

"There  is  only  one  misfortune,  that  it  is  impossible,  my 
dear  Monsieur  Buvat." 

"Why  impossible?" 

"Entirely." 

"Monseigneur,  I  am  an  honest  man." 


THE   FOX   AND   THE   GOOSE.  313 

"Monsieur  Buvat,  you  are  a  fool." 

"  Monseigneur,  I  still  wish  to  keep  silence." 

"  My  dear  monsieur,  you  will  speak." 

"And  if  I  speak,  I  shall  be  the  informer  against  the 
prince." 

"If  you  do  not  speak  you  are  his  accomplice." 

"His  accomplice,  monseigneur!  and  of  what  crime  ?" 

"Of  the  crime  of  high  treason.  Ah!  the  police  have 
had  their  eyes  on  you  this  long  time,  Monsieur  Buvat  !  " 

"On  me,  monseigneur  ?" 

"Yes,  on  you;  under  the  pretext  that  they  do  not  pay 
you  your  salary,  you  entertain  seditious  proposals  against 
the  State." 

"  Oh,  monseigneur  !  how  can  they  say  so  ?  " 

"  Under  the  pretext  of  their  not  paying  you  your  salary, 
you  have  been  making  copies  of  incendiary  documents  for 
the  last  four  days." 

"Monseigneur,  I  only  found  it  out  yesterday;  I  do  not 
understand  Spanish." 

"You  do  understand  it,  monsieur." 

"I  swear,  monseigneur." 

"  I  tell  you  you  do  understand  it,  and  the  proof  is  that 
there  is  not  a  mistake  in  your  copies.    But  that  is  not  all." 

"  How  not  all  ?  " 

"No,  that  is  not  all.  Is  this  Spanish?  Look,  mon- 
sieur, "  and  he  read  :  — 

"Nothing  is  more  important  than  to  make  sure  of  the 
places  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  the 
noblemen  who  reside  in  the  cantons." 

"  But,  monseigneur,  it  was  just  by  that  that  I  made  the 
discovery." 

"  Monsieur  Buvat,  they  have  sent  men  to  the  galleys  for 
less  than  you  have  done." 

"Monseigneur!" 

"  Monsieur  Buvat,  men  have  been  hanged  who  were  less 
guilty  than  you." 

"  Monseigneur  !  monseigneur  I  " 


314  THE  ciievalif:r  d'harmental. 

"Monsieur  Buvat,  they  have  been  broken  on  the 
wheel." 

"Mercy,  monseigneur,  mercy!" 

"Mercy  to  a  criminal  like  you,  Monsieur  Buvat!  I  shall 
send  you  to  the  Bastille,  and  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  to 
Saint  Lazare." 

"  To  Saint  Lazare  !  Bathilde  at  Saint  Lazare,  mon- 
seigneur! Bathilde  at  Saint  Lazare!  and  who  has  the 
right  to  do  that?  '' 

"  I,  Monsieur  Buvat." 

"No,  monseigneur,  you  have  not  the  right!"  cried 
Buvat,  who  could  fear  and  suffer  everything  for  himself, 
but  who,  at  the  thought  of  such  infamy,  from  a  worm 
became  a  serpent.  "Bathilde  is  not  a  daughter  of  the 
people,  monseigneur!  Bathilde  is  a  lady  of  noble  birth, 
the  daughter  of  a  man  who  saved  the  life  of  the  regent, 
and  when  I  represent  to  his  Highness  —  " 

"You  will  go  first  to  the  Bastille,  Monsieur  Buvat," 
said  Dubois,  pulling  the  bell  so  as  nearly  to  break  it,  "  and 
then  we  shall  see  about  Mademoiselle  Bathilde." 

"Monseigneur,  what  are  you  doing  ?" 

"You  will  see."  (The  usher  entered.)  "An  officer  of 
police,  and  a  carriage." 

"Monseigneur  !  "  cried  Buvat,  "all  that  you  wish  —  " 

"Do  as  I  have  bid  you,"  said  Dubois. 

The  usher  went  out. 

"Monseigneur!"  said  Buvat,  joining  his  hands;  "mon- 
seigneur, I  will  obey." 

"No,  Monsieur  Buvat.  Ah!  you  wish  a  trial,  you  shall 
have  one.  You  want  a  rope,  you  shall  not  be  disap- 
pointed." 

"Monseigneur,"  cried  Buvat,  falling  on  his  knees, 
"what  must  I  do?" 

"Hang,  hang,  hang!"  continued  Dubois. 

"Monseigneur,"  said  the  usher,  returning,  "the  carriage 
is  at  the  door,  and  the  officer  in  the  anteroom." 

"Monseigneur,"  said  Buvat,  twisting  his  little  legs,  and 


THE  FOX  AND  THE  GOOSE.  315 

tearing  out  the  few  yellow  hairs  which  he  had  left,  "  mon- 
seigneur, will  you  be  pitiless  ?  " 

"Ah  !  you  will  not  tell  me  the  name  of  the  prince  ?" 
"It  is  the  Prince  de  Listhnay,  monseigneur." 
"Ah  !  you  will  not  tell  me  his  address  ?  " 
"He  lives  at  No.  110,  Rue  du  Bac,  monseigneur." 
"  You  will  not  make  me  copies  of  those  papers  ?  " 
"I  will  do  it,  I  will  do  it  this  instant,"  said  Buvat;  and 
he  went  and  sat  down  before  the  desk,  took  a  pen,  dipped 
it  in  the  ink,  and,  taking  some  paper,  began  the  lirst  page 
with  a  superb  capital.      "  I  will  do  it,  I  will  do  it,  mon- 
seigneur; only  you  will  allow  me  to  write  to  Bathilde  that 
I  shall   not  be   home  to  dinner.     Bathilde   at   the    Saint 
Lazare?"  murmured  Buvat  between  his  teeth,   ^^  Sabre   de 
bois  !  he  would  have  done  as  he  said." 

"Yes,  monsieur,  I  would  have  done  that,  and  more  too, 
for  the  safety  of  the  State,  as  you  will  find  out  to  youi 
cost,  if  you  do  not  return  these  papers,  and  if  you  do  not 
take  the  others,  and  if  you  do  not  bring  a  copy  here  every 
evening." 

"But,  monseigneur,"  cried  Buvat,  in  despair,  "I  cannot 
then  go  to  my  office." 

"  Well  then,  do  not  go  to  your  office." 
"  Not  go  to  my  office  !  but  I  have  not  missed  a  day  for 
twelve  years,  monseigneur." 

"  Well,  I  give  you  a  month's  leave." 
"But  I  shall  lose  my  place,  monseigneur." 
"What  will  that  matter  to  you,  since  they  do  not  pay 
you  ?  " 

"But  the  honour  of  being  a  public  functionary,  mon- 
seigneur; and,  moreover,  I  love  my  books,  I  love  my 
table,  I  love  my  hair  seat,"  cried  Buvat,  ready  to  cry; 
"and  to  think  that  I  shall  lose  it  all  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  wish   to   keep   your   books,    your, 
table,  and  your  chair,  I  should  advise  you  to  obey  me." 
"Have  I  not  already  put  myself  at  your  service  ?" 
"  Then  you  will  do  what  I  wish  ?  " 


316  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Everything." 

"Without  breathing  a  word  to  any  one  ?" 

"I  will  be  dumb." 

"  Not  even  to  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  ?  " 

"To  her  less  than  any  one,  monseigneur." 

"  That  is  well.     On  that  condition  I  pardon  you," 

"Oh,  monseigneur  !" 

"  I  shall  forget  your  fault." 

"Monseigneur  is  too  good." 

"And  perhaps  I  will  even  reward  you." 

"Oh,  monseigneur,  what  magnanimity  !  " 

"Well,  well,  set  to  work." 

"I  am  ready,  monseigneur,  I  am  ready." 

And  Buvat  began  to  write  in  his  most  flowing  hand,  and 
never  moving  his  eyes,  except  from  the  original  to  the 
copy,  and  staying  from  time  to  time  to  wipe  his  forehead, 
which  was  covered  with  perspiration.  Dubois  profited  by 
his  industry  to  open  the  closet  for  La  Fillon,  and,  signing 
to  her  to  be  silent,  he  led  her  towards  the  door. 

"Well,  gossip,"  whispered  she,  for  in  spite  of  his  cau- 
tion she  could  not  restrain  her  curiosity;  "where  is  your 
writer  ?  " 

"There  he  is,"  said  Dubois,  showing  Buvat,  who,  lean- 
ing over  his  paper,  was  working  away  industriously. 

"What  is  he  doing?" 

"Guess." 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"Then  you  want  me  to  tell  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  he  is  making  my  cardinal's  hat." 

La  Fillon  uttered  such  an  exclamation  of  surprise  that 
Buvat  started  and  turned  round;  but  Dubois  had  already 
pushed  her  out  of  the  room,  again  recommending  her  to 
send  him  daily  news  of  the  captain. 

But  the  reader  will  ask  what  Bathilde  and  D'Harmental 
were  doing  all  this  time.     Nothing,  —  they  were  happy. 


A  CHAPTER   OF   SAINT-SIMON.  317 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A   CHAPTER   OP    SAINT-SIMON. 

Four  days  passed  thus,  during  which  Buvat  —  remaining 
absent  from  the  office  on  pretext  of  indisposition  —  suc- 
ceeded in  completing  the  two  copies,  — one  for  the  Prince 
de  Listhnay,  the  other  for  Dubois.  During  these  four 
days  —  certainly  the  most  agitated  of  his  life  —  he  was  so 
taciturn  and  gloomy  that  Bathilde  several  times  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter;  but  as  he  always  answered 
nothing,  and  began  to  sing  his  little  song,  Bathilde  was 
easily  deceived,  particularly  as  he  still  left  every  morning 
as  if  to  go  to  the  office,  —  so  that  she  saw  no  material 
alteration  from  his  ordinary  habits. 

As  to  D'Harmental,  he  received  every  morning  a  visit 
from  the  Abbé  Brigand,  announcing  that  everything  was 
going  on  right;  and  as  his  own  love  affairs  were  quite  as 
prosperous,  D'Harmental  began  to  think  that  to  be  a  con- 
spirator Avas  the  happiest  thing  on  the  earth. 

As  to  the  Due  d'Orléans,  suspecting  nothing,  he  con- 
tinued his  ordinary  life,  and  had  invited  the  customary 
guests  to  his  Sunday's  supper,  when  in  the  afternoon 
Dubois  entered  his  room. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you,  abbé  !  I  was  going  to  send  to  you  to 
know  if  you  were  going  to  make  one  of  us  to-night." 

"You  are  going  to  have  a  supper,  then,  monseigneur?*'' 
asked  Dubois. 

"Where  do  you  come  from  with  your  fast-day  face?  Is 
not  to-day  Sunday?" 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

"Well,  then,  come  back  to  us;  here  is  the  list  of  the 
guests.     Noce,  Lafare,  Fargy,  Ravanne,  Broglie;  I  do  not 


318  THK    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

invite  Brancas;  he  has  been  wearisome  for  some  days.  I 
think  he  must  be  conspiring.  Then  La  Phalaris  and 
D'Averne,  they  cannot  bear  each  other;  they  will  tear 
out  each  other's  eyes,  and  that  will  amuse  us.  Then  we 
shall  have  La  Souris,  and  perhaps  Madame  de  Sabran,  if 
she  has  no  appointment  with  Richelieu." 

"This  is  your  list,  monseigneur?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  will  your  Highness  look  at  mine  now?" 

"Have  you  made  one  too?" 

"No,  it  was  brought  to  me  ready  made." 

"What  is  this?"  asked  the  regent,  looking  at  a  paper 
which  Dubois  presented  to  him. 

"  *  Nominal  list  of  the  officers  v/ho  request  commissions 
in  the  Spanish  army;  Claude  François  de  Ferrette,  Knight 
of  Saint  Louis,  Field  Marshal  and  Colonel  of  Cavalry; 
Boschet,  Knight  of  Saint  Louis,  and  Colonel  of  Infantry; 
De  Sabran,  De  Larochefoucault-Gondrel,  De  Villeneuve, 
De  Lescure,  De  Laval.'     Well,  what  next?" 

"Here  is  another;"  and  he  presented  a  second  letter  to 
the  duke. 

"'Protestation  of  the  nobility.'" 

"Make  your  lists,  monseigneur,  you  are  not  the  only 
one  you  see,  —  the  Prince  de  Cellamare  has  his  also." 

"  '  Signed  without  distinction  of  ranks,  so  that  there 
may  be  no  dissatisfaction  :  —  De  Vieux-Pont,  De  la  Paille- 
terie.  De  Beaufremont,  De  Latour-du-Pin,  De  Montauban, 
Louis  de  Caumont,  Claude  de  Polignac,  Charles  de  Laval, 
Antoine  de  Chastellux,  Armand  de  Richelieu.'  Where 
did  you  fish  up  all  this,  you  old  fox?" 

"Wait,  monseigneur,  we  have  not  done  yet.  Look  at 
this." 

"  *  Plan  of  the  conspirators  :  Nothing  is  more  important 
than  to  make  sure  of  the  strong  places  near  the  Pyrenees, 
to  gain  the  garrison  of  Bayonne.'  Surrender  our  towns! 
give  the  keys  of  France  into  the  hands  of  the  Spanish! 
What  does  this  mean,  Dubois?  " 


A   CHAPTER   OF   SAINT-SIMON.  319 

''Patience,  monseigneur;  we  have  better  than  that  to 
show  you;  we  have  here  the  letters  from  his  Majesty 
Philip  V.  himself." 

"  'To  the  King  of  France  —  '  But  these  are  only 
copies." 

''I  will  tell  you  soon  where  the  originals  are." 

"  Let  us  see,  my  dear  abbé,  let  us  see.  *  Since  Provi- 
dence has  placed  me  on  the  throne  of  Spain,'  etc.,  etc. 
*In  what  light  can  your  faithful  subjects  regard  the  treaty 
which  is  signed  against  me?  '  etc.,  etc.  'I  beg  your  Majesty 
to  convoke  the  States-General  of  the  kingdom.'  Convoke 
the  States-General  !     In  whose  name?" 

"In  the  name  of  Philip  V." 

"Philip  V.  is  King  of  Spain  and  not  of  Prance.  Let 
him  keep  to  his  own  character.  I  crossed  the  Pyrenees 
once  to  secure  him  on  his  throne;  I  might  cross  them  a 
second  time  to  remove  him  from  it." 

"We  will  think  of  that  later.  I  do  not  say  no;  but  for 
the  present  we  have  the  fifth  piece  to  read  —  and  not  the 
least  important,  as  you  will  see." 

And  Dubois  presented  another  paper  to  the  regent, 
which  he  opened  with  such  impatience  that  he  tore  it  in 
opening  it. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Dubois,  "the  pieces  are  good;  put 
them  together  and  read  them." 

The  regent  did  so,  and  read,  — 

"'Dearly  and  well  beloved.' 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  regent,  "  it  is  a  question  of  my  deposi- 
tion, and  these  letters,  I  suppose,  were  to  be  given  to  the 
king?" 

"To-morrow,  monseigneur.'* 

"By  whom?" 

"  The  marshal." 

"Villeroy?" 

"Himself." 

"How  did  he  determine  on  such  a  thing?" 

"It  was  not  he;  it  was  his  wife,  monseigneur.*' 


320  THE   CHEYALIEU   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Another  of  Richelieu's  tricks?" 

"You  are  right,  monseigneur." 

"And  from  whom  do  you  get  these  papers?" 

"From  a  poor  writer  to  whom  they  have  been  given  to 
be  copied,  since,  thanks  to  a  descent  made  on  Laval's 
house,  a  press  which  he  had  hidden  in  the  cellar  has 
ceased  to  work." 

"And  this  writer  is  in  direct  communication  with  Cella- 
mare?    The  idiots!" 

"Not  at  all,  monseigneur;  their  measures  are  better 
taken.  The  good  man  has  only  had  to  deal  with  the 
Prince  de  Listhnay." 

"Prince  de  Listhnay  !     Who  is  he?  " 

"Rue  du  Bac,  110." 

"I  do  not  know  him." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  monseigneur." 

"Where  have  I  seen  him?" 

"In  your  antechamber." 

"  What  !  this  pretended  Prince  de  Listhnay  ?  " 

"  Is  no  other  than  that  scoundrel  D' Avranches,  Madame 
du  Maine's  valet  de  chamhrey 

"Ah!  I  was  astonished  that  she  was  not  in  it." 

"  Oh  !  she  is  at  the  head,  and  if  monseigneur  would  like 
to  be  rid  of  her  and  her  clique,  we  have  them  all." 

"  Let  us  attend  to  the  most  pressing.  " 

"Yes,  let  us  think  of  Villeroy.  Have  you  decided  on 
a  bold  stroke?" 

"Certainly.  So  long  as  you  confine  yourself  to  parad- 
ing about  like  a  man  at  a  theatre  or  a  tournament,  very 
well;  so  long  as  you  conline  yourself  to  calumnies  and 
impertinences  against  rae,  very  good;  but  when  it  becomes 
a  question  of  the  peace  and  tranquillity  of  France,  you 
will  find.  Monsieur  le  Maréchal,  that  you  have  already 
compromised  them  sufficiently  by  your  military  inapti- 
tude, and  we  shall  not  give  you  an  opportunity  of  doing 
so  again  by  your  political  follies." 

"Then,"  said  Dubois,  "we  must  lay  hold  of  him?" 


A  CHAPTER   OF   SAINT-SIMON.  321 

"Yes;  but  with  certain  precautions.  We  must  take 
him  in  the  act." 

"Nothing  easier.  He  goes  every  morning  at  eight 
o'clock  to  the  king." 

"Yes." 

"Be  to-morrow  at  half -past  seven  at  Versailles." 

"Well?" 

"You  will  go  to  his  Majesty  before  him." 

"Very  well." 

The  regent  and  Dubois  talked  for  some  little  time 
longer,  after  which  Dubois  took  his  leave. 

"There  is  no  supper  this  evening,"  said  Dubois  to  the 
usher,  "give  notice  to  the  guests;  the  regent  is  ill." 

That  evening  at  nine  o'clock  the  regent  left  the  Palais 
Eoyal,  and,  contrary  to  his  ordinary  habit,  slept  at 
Versailles. 


322  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HAKMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 


A   SNARE. 


The  next  day,  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  at  the 
time  when  the  king  rose,  an  usher  entered  his  Majesty's 
room  and  announced  that  his  Royal  Highness,  Monseigneur 
le  Duc  d'Orléans,  solicited  the  honour  of  assisting  at  his 
toilet.  Louis  XV.,  who  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  decide 
anything  for  himself,  turned  towards  Monsieur  de  Fréjus, 
who  was  seated  in  the  least  conspicuous  corner  of  the 
room,  as  if  to  ask  what  he  should  say;  and  to  this  mute 
question  Monsieur  de  Fréjus  not  only  made  a  sign  with 
his  head  signifying  that  it  was  necessary  to  receive  his 
Royal  Highness,  but  rose  and  went  himself  to  open  the 
door.  The  regent  stopped  a  minute  on  the  doorstep  to 
thank  Fleury,  then  having  assured  himself  by  a  rapid 
glance  round  the  room  that  the  Maréchal  de  Villeroy  had 
not  yet  arrived,  he  advanced  towards  the  king. 

Louis  XV.  was  at  this  time  a  pretty  child  of  nine  or 
ten  years  of  age,  with  long  chestnut  hair,  jet-black  eyes, 
and  a  mouth  like  a  cherry,  and  a  rosy  complexion  like  that 
of  his  mother,  Mary  of  Savo}^,  Duchesse  de  Burgundy, 
but  which  was  liable  to  sudden  paleness.  Although  his 
character  was  already  very  irresolute,  thanks  to  the  con- 
tradictory influences  of  the  double  government  of  the 
Maréchal  de  Villeroy  and  Monsieur  de  Fréjus,  he  had  some- 
thing ardent  in  his  face  which  stamped  him  as  the  great- 
grandson  of  Louis  XIV.  ;  and  he  had  a  trick  of  putting  on 
his  hat  like  him.  At  first,  warned  against  the  Due 
d'Orléans  as  the  man  in  all  France  from  whom  he  had 
most  to  fear,  he  had  felt  that  prejudice  yield  little  by 
little  during  the  interviews  which  they  had  had  together. 


A   SNARE.  323 

in  which,  with  that  juvenile  instinct  which  so  rarely 
deceives  children,  he  had  recognised  a  friend. 

On  his  part,  it  must  be  said  that  the  Due  d'Orléans  had 
for  the  king,  besides  the  respect  which  was  his  due,  a  love 
the  most  attentive  and  the  most  tender.  The  little  busi- 
ness which  could  be  submitted  to  his  young  mind  he 
always  presented  to  him  with  so  much  clearness  and 
talent,  that  politics,  which  would  have  been  wearisome 
with  any  one  else,  became  a  recreation  when  pursued  witli 
him,  so  that  the  royal  child  always  saw  his  arrival  with 
pleasure.  It  must  be  confessed  that  this  work  was  almost 
always  rewarded  by  the  most  beautiful  toys  which  could 
be  found,  and  which  Dubois,  in  order  to  pay  his  court  to 
the  king,  imported  from  Germany  and  England.  His 
Majesty  therefore  received  the  regent  with  his  sweetest 
smile,  and  gave  him  his  little  hand  to  kiss  with  a  peculiar 
grace,  while  the  Archbishop  of  Frejus,  faithful  to  his 
system  of  humility,  had  sat  down  in  the  same  corner 
where  he  had  been  surprised  by  the  arrival  of  the  regent. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  monsieur,"  said  Louis  XV. 
in  a  sweet  little  voice,  from  which  even  the  etiquette 
which  they  imposed  upon  him  could  not  entirely  take 
away  all  grace;  "and  all  the  more  glad  to  see  you  from  its 
not  being  your  usual  hour.  I  presume  that  you  have  some 
good  news  to  tell  me." 

"Two  pieces,  sire,"  answered  the  regent;  "the  first  is, 
that  I  have  just  received  from  Nuremberg  a  chest  which 
seems  to  me  to  contain  —  " 

"  Oh,  toys  !  lots  of  toys  !  does  it  not,  Monsieur  le 
Kegent?  "  cried  the  king,  dancing  joyously,  and  clapping 
his  hands,  regardless  of  his  valet  de  chambre,  who  was 
waiting  for  him,  and  holding  the  little  sword  with  a  cut- 
steel  handle  which  he  was  going  to  hang  in  the  king's 
belt.  "Oh,  the  dear  toys!  the  beautiful  toys!  how  kind 
you  are  !     Oh  !  how  I  love  you,  Monsieur  le  Regent  !  " 

"Sire,  I  only  do  my  duty,"  answered  the  Due  d'Orléans, 
bowing  respectfully,  "and  you  owe  me  no  thanks  for 
that." 


324  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"And  where  is  it,  monsieur?  Where  is  thia  pretty 
chest  ? " 

"In  iny  apartments,  sire;  and  if  your  Majesty  wishes 
it  brought  here,  I  will  send  it  during  the  course  of  the 
day,  or  to-morrow  morning." 

"Oh,  no;  now,  monsieur;  now,  I  beg!" 

"But  it  is  at  my  apartments." 

"Well,  let  us  go  to  your  apartments,"  cried  the  child, 
running  to  the  door,  and  forgetting  that  he  wanted,  in 
order  to  complete  his  toilet,  his  little  sword,  his  little 
satin  jacket,  and  his  cordon-hleu. 

"Sire,"  said  Frejus,  advancing,  "I  would  remark  that 
your  Majesty  abandons  yourself  too  entirely  to  the  pleas- 
ure caused  by  the  possession  of  things  that  you  should 
already  regard  as  trifles." 

"Yes,  monsieur;  yes,  you  are  right,"  said  Louis  XV., 
making  an  effort  to  control  himself;  "but  you  must  pardon 
me;  I  am  only  ten  years  old,  and  I  worked  hard  yesterday." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Monsieur  de  Frejus;  "and  so  your 
Majesty  will  employ  yourself  with  the  toys  when  you  have 
asked  Monsieur  le  Regent  what  the  other  piece  of  news 
which  he  came  to  bring  you  is." 

"  Ah  !  yes.     By  the  bye,  what  is  the  second  affair  ?  " 

"A  work  which  will  be  profitable  to  France,  and  which 
is  of  so  much  importance  that  I  think  it  most  necessary 
to  submit  it  to  your  Majesty." 

"  Have  you  it  here  ?  "  asked  the  king. 

"No,  sire;  I  did  not  expect  to  find  your  Majesty  so  well 
inclined  to  work,  and  I  left  it  in  my  study." 

"Well,"  said  Louis  XV.,  turning  half  towards  Monsieur 
de  Frejus,  half  towards  the  regent,  and  looking  at  both  of 
them  with  an  imploring  eye,  "cannot  we  reconcile  all 
that?  Instead  of  taking  my  morning  walk,  I  will  go  and 
see  these  beautiful  Nuremberg  toys,  and  when  we  have 
seen  them  we  will  pass  into  your  study  and  work." 

"It  is  against  etiquette,  sire,"  answered  the  regent, 
"  but  if  your  Majesty  wishes  it  —  " 


A   SNARE.  325 

"Oh,  I  do  wisli  it!  That  is,"  added  he,  turning  and 
looking  at  Frejus  so  sweetly  that  there  was  no  resisting 
it,  "if  my  good  preceptor  permits  it." 

"Does  Monsieur  de  Frejus  see  anything  wrong  in  it?" 
said  the  regent,  turning  towards  Fleury,  and  pronouncing 
these  words  with  an  accent  which  showed  that  the  pre- 
ceptor would  wound  him  deeply  by  refusing  the  request 
which  his  royal  pupil  made  him. 

"No,  monseigneur,"  said  Frejus;  "quite  the  contrary. 
It  is  well  that  his  Majesty  should  accustom  himself  to 
work  ;  and  if  the  laws  of  etiquette  are  a  little  violated, 
that  violation  will  bring  about  a  happy  result  for  the  peo- 
ple. I  only  ask  of  monseigneur  the  permission  to  accom- 
pany his  Majesty." 

"Certainly,  monseigneur,"  said  the  regent,  "with  the 
greatest  pleasure." 

"Oh,  how  good!  how  kind!"  cried  Louis  XV.  "Quick! 
my  sword,  my  jacket,  my  cordon-bleu.  Here  I  am.  Mon- 
sieur le  Regent;"  and  he  advanced  to  take  the  regent's 
hand.  But,  instead  of  allowing  that  familiarity,  the  regent 
bowed,  and,  opening  the  door,  signed  to  the  king  to  pre- 
cede him,  following  three  or  four  paces  behind,  hat  in 
hand,  together  with  Frejus. 

The  king's  apartments,  situated  on  the  ground  floor, 
were  level  with  those  of  the  Due  d'Orléans,  and  were 
only  separated  by  an  antechamber  opening  into  the  king's 
rooms,  and  a  gallery  leading  from  these  to  the  ante- 
chamber of  the  regent.  The  distance  wa?  short,  there- 
fore, and  —  as  the  king  was  in  haste  to  arrive  —  they 
found  themselves  in  an  instant  in  a  large  study,  lighted 
by  four  windows,  all  forming  doors  which  opened  into 
the  garden.  This  large  study  led  to  a  smaller  one,  where 
the  regent  generally  worked,  and  where  he  brought  his 
most  intimate  friends  and  his  favourites.  All  his  High- 
ness's  court  was  in  attendance,  —  a  very  natural  circum- 
stance, since  it  was  the  hour  for  rising.  The  king,  how- 
ever, did  not  notice  either  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,  captain 


326  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

of  the  Gray  Musketeers,  or  the  Marquis  de  Lafare,  captain 
of  the  Guards,  or  a  very  considerable  number  of  the  Light 
Horse,  who  were  drawn  up  outside  tlie  windows.  It  is 
true  that  on  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  he  had  seen 
the  welcome  chest,  whose  monstrous  size  had,  in  spite  of 
the  chilling  exhortation  of  Monsieur  de  Fréjus,  caused 
him  to  give  a  cry  of  joy. 

However,  he  was  obliged  to  contain  himself,  and  receive 
the  homage  of  Monsieur  d'Artagnan  and  Monsieur  de 
Lafare;  meanwhile  the  regent  had  called  two  valets  de 
^^lamhre,  who  quickly  opened  the  lid,  and  displayed  the 
most  splendid  collection  of  toys  which  had  ever  dazzled 
the  eyes  of  a  king  of  nine  years  old.  At  this  tempting 
sight  the  king  forgot  alike  preceptor,  guards,  and  Gray 
Musketeers.  He  hastened  towards  this  paradise  which 
was  opened  to  him,  and,  as  from  an  inexhaustible  mine, 
he  drew  out  succesively  locks,  three-deckers,  squadrons  of 
cavalry,  battalions  of  infantry,  pedlars  with  their  packs, 
jugglers  with  their  cups;  in  fact,  all  those  wonders 
which  on  Christmas  eve  turn  the  heads  of  all  children 
beyond  the  Rhine;  and  that,  with  such  undisguised  trans- 
ports of  joy,  that  Monsieur  de  Fréjus  himself  respected 
his  royal  pupil's  happiness.  The  assistants  watched  him 
with  that  religious  silence  which  surrounds  great  griefs  or 
great  joys.  While  this  silence  was  the  most  profound,  a 
violent  noise  was  heard  in  the  ante-chamber,  the  door  was 
opened,  an  usher  announced  the  Due  de  Villeroy,  and  the 
marshal  appeared,  loudly  demanding  to  see  the  king.  As 
they  were,  however,  accustomed  to  such  proceedings,  the 
regent  merely  pointed  to  his  Majesty,  who  was  still  con- 
tinuing to  empty  the  chest,  covering  the  furniture  and 
floor  with  the  splendid  toys. 

The  marshal  had  nothing  to  say;  he  was  nearly  an  hour 
late;  the  king  was  with  Monsieur  Fréjus,  but  he  ap- 
proached him,  grumbling,  and  throwing  round  him  glances 
which  appeared  to  say  that  he  was  there  ready  to  protect 
his  Majesty  from  all  danger. 


A   SNARE.  327 

The  regent  exchanged  glances  with  D'Artagnan  and 
Lafare;  everything  went  well. 

The  chest  was  emptied  —  and,  after  having  allowed  the 
king  to  enjoy  for  an  instant  the  sight  of  all  his  treasures 
—  the  regent  approached  him,  and,  still  hat  in  hand, 
recalled  to  his  mind  the  promise  he  had  made  to  devote 
an  hour  to  the  consideration  of  State  affairs. 

Louis  XV.,  Avith  that  scrupulousness  which  afterwards 
led  him  to  declare  that  punctuality  was  the  politeness  of 
kings,  threw  a  last  glance  over  his  toys;  and  then,  merely 
asking  permission  to  have  them  removed  to  his  apart- 
ments, advanced  towards  the  little  study,  and  the  regent 
opened  the  door.  Then,  according  to  their  different  char- 
acters, Monsieur  de  Fleury,  under  pretext  of  his  dislike  of 
politics,  drew  back,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner,  while  the 
marshal  darted  forwards,  and,  seeing  the  king  enter  the 
study,  tried  to  follow  him.  This  was  the  moment  that 
the  regent  had  impatiently  expected. 

"  Pardon,  marshal,  "  said  he,  barring  the  passage  ;  "  but 
I  wish  to  speak  to  his  Majesty  on  affairs  which  demand 
the  most  absolute  secrecy,  and  therefore  I  beg  for  a  short 
téte-a-tétey 

"  Tête-à-téte !  "  cried  Villeroy;  "you  know,  monseigneur, 
that  it  is  impossible." 

"And  why  impossbile?"  asked  the  regent,  calmly. 

"  Because,  as  governor  to  his  Majesty,  I  have  the  right 
of  accompanying  him  everywhere." 

"In  the  first  place,  monsieur,"  replied  the  regent,  "this 
right  does  not  appear  to  me  to  rest  on  any  very  positive 
proof,  and  if  I  have  till  now  tolerated,  not  this  right, 
but  this  pretension,  it  is  because  the  age  of  the  king 
has  hitherto  rendered  it  unimportant;  but  now  that  his 
Majesty  has  nearly  completed  his  tenth  year,  and  that  I 
am  permitted  to  commence  instructing  him  on  the  science 
of  government,  in  which  I  am  his  appointed  preceptor, 
you  will  see  that  it  is  quite  right  that  I,  as  well  as  Mon- 
sieur de  Fréjus  and  yourself,  should  be  allowed  some  hours 


328  THE    CHEVALIKR    D'HARMENTAL. 

of  tête-à-tête  with  his  Majesty.  This  will  be  less  painful 
to  you  to  grant,  marshal,"  added  the  regent,  with  a  smile, 
the  expression  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  mistake, 
"because,  having  studied  these  matters  so  much  yourself, 
it  is  impossible  that  you  can  have  anything  left  to  learn." 

"But,  monsieur,"  said  the  marshal,  as  usual  forgetting 
his  politeness  as  he  became  warm,  "  1  beg  to  remind  you 
that  the  king  is  my  pupil." 

"I  know  it,  monsieur,"  said  the  regent,  in  the  same 
tone;  "make  of  his  Majesty  a  great  captain,  I  do  not  wish 
to  prevent  you.  Your  campaigns  in  Italy  and  Flanders 
prove  that  he  could  not  have  a  better  master;  but,  at  this 
moment,  it  is  not  a  question  of  military  science,  but  of 
a  state  secret,  which  can  only  be  confided  to  his  Majesty; 
therefore,  again  I  beg  to  speak  to  the  king  in  private." 

"  Impossible,  monseigneur  !  "  cried  the  marshal. 

"Impossible  !  "  replied  the  regent;  "and  why?  " 

"Why?"  continued  the  marshal;  "because  my  duty  is 
not  to  lose  sight  of  the  king  for  a  moment,  and  because  I 
will  not  permit  it." 

"Take  care,  marshal,"  interrupted  the  Due  d'Orléans, 
haughtily;  "you  are  forgetting  your  proper  respect  to- 
wards me." 

"Monseigneur,"  continued  the  marshal,  becoming  more 
and  more  angry,  "I  know  the  respect  which  I  owe  to  your 
Eoyal  Highness,  and  I  also  know  what  I  owe  to  my  charge 
and  to  the  king,  and  for  that  reason  I  will  not  lose  sight 
of  his  Majesty  for  an  instant,  inasmuch  as  —  ' ' 

The  duke  hesitated. 

"Well,  finish,"  said  the  regent. 

"Inasmuch  as  I  answer  for  his  person,"  said  the  marshal. 

At  this  want  of  all  restraint,  there  was  a  moment's 
silence,  during  which  nothing  was  heard  but  the  grum- 
blings of  the  marshal  and  the  stifled  sighs  of  Monsieur  de 
Fleury. 

As  to  the  Due  d'Orléans,  he  raised  his  head  with  a 
sovereign  air  of  contempt,  and,  taking  that  air  of  dignity 


A   SNARE.  329 

which  made  him,  when  he  chose,  one  of  the  most  imposing 
princes  in  the  worki,  — 

"Monsieur  de  Villeroy,"  said  he,  "you  mistake  me 
strangely,  it  appears,  and  imagine  that  you  are  speaking 
to  some  one  else;  but  since  you  forget  who  I  am,  I  must 
endeavour  to  remind  you.  Marquis  de  Lafare,"  continued 
he,  addressing  his  captain  of  the  guards,  "do  your  duty." 
Then  the  Marshal  de  Villeroy,  seeing  on  what  a  precipice 
he  stood,  opened  his  mouth  to  attempt  an  excuse,  but  the 
regent  left  him  no  time  to  finish  his  sentence,  and  shut 
the  door  in  his  face. 

The  Marquis  de  Lafare  instantly  approached  the  marshal 
and  demanded  his  sword.  The  marshal  remained  for  an 
instant  as  if  thunderstruck.  He  had  for  so  long  a  time 
been  left  undisturbed  in  his  impertinence,  that  he  had 
begun  to  think  himself  invincible.  He  tried  to  speak,  but 
his  voice  failed  him,  and,  on  the  second  and  still  more 
imperative  demand  he  gave  up  his  sword.  At  the  same 
moment  a  door  opens  and  a  chair  appears  ;  two  musketeers 
push  the  marshal  into  it,  —  it  is  closed.  D' Artagnan  and 
Lafare  place  themselves  at  each  side,  and  the  prisoner  is 
carried  off  through  the  gardens.  The  Light  Horse  follow, 
and,  at  a  considerable  and  increasing  speed,  they  descend 
the  staircase,  turn  to  the  left,  and  enter  the  orangery. 
There  the  suite  remain,  and  the  chair,  its  porters,  and 
tenant,  enter  a  second  room,  accompanied  only  by  Lafare 
and  D'Artagnan.  The  marshal,  who  had  never  been 
remarkable  for  sang-froid,  thought  himself  lost. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  he,  turning  pale,  while  perspiration 
and  powder  ran  down  his  face,  "  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to 
be  assassinated  !  " 

"iSTo,  no,  make  yourself  easy,"  said  Lafare,  while 
D'Artagnan  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  ridiculous 
figure,  —  "  something  much  more  simple,  and  infinitely  less 
tragic." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  "  asked  the  marshal,  whom  this 
assurance  rendered  a  little  more  easy. 


330  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"There  are  two  letters,  monsieur,  which  you  were  to 
have  given  to  the  king  this  morning,  and  which  you  must 
have  in  one  of  your  pockets." 

The  marshal,  who,  till  that  moment,  in  his  anxiety 
about  himself,  had  forgotten  Madame  du  Maine's  affairs, 
started,  and  raised  his  hands  to  the  pocket  where  the 
letters  were. 

"Your  pardon,"  said  D'Artagnan,  stopping  his  hand, 
"  but  we  are  authorised  to  inform  you  —  in  case  you  should 
not  feel  inclined  to  remove  these  letters  —  that  the  regent 
has  copies  of  them." 

"I  may  add,"  said  Lafare,  "that  we  are  authorised  to 
take  them  by  force,  and  are  absolved  in  advance  from  all 
accidents  that  may  happen  in  such  a  struggle." 

"And  you  assure  me,"  said  the  marshal,  "that  the 
regent  has  copies  of  these  letters?" 

"On  my  word  of  honour,"  said  D'Artagnan. 

"In  this  case,"  replied  Villeroy,  "I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  prevent  you  from  taking  these  letters,  which  do 
not  regard  me  in  the  least,  and  which  I  undertook  to 
deliver  to  oblige  others." 

"We  know  it,"  said  Lafare. 

"But,"  added  the  marshal,  "I  hope  you  will  inform  his 
Royal  Highness  of  the  ease  with  which  I  submitted  to  his 
orders,  and  of  my  regret  for  having  offended  him?  " 

"Do  not  doubt  it;  all  will  be  reported  as  it  has  passed. 
But  these  letters?" 

"Here  they  are,  monsieur,"  said  the  marshal,  giving 
two  letters  to  Lafare. 

Lafare  assured  himself  by  the  seals  that  they  were  really 
the  letters  he  was  in  search  of.  "My  dear  D'Artagnan," 
said  he,  "now  conduct  the  marshal  to  his  destination,  and 
give  orders,  in  the  name  of  the  regent,  that  he  is  to  be 
treated  with  every  respect." 

The  chair  was  closed,  and  the  porters  carried  it  off.  At 
the  gate  of  the  gardens  a  carriage  with  six  horses  was 
waiting,    in   which   they   placed   the   marshal,    who   now 


A   SNARE.  331 

began  to  suspect  the  trap  which  had  been  laid  for  him. 
D'Artagnan  seated  himself  by  him,  an  officer  of  musketeers 
and  Du  Libois,  one  of  the  king's  gentlemen,  opposite; 
and  with  twenty  musketeers  at  each  side,  and  twelve  fol- 
lowing, the  carriage  set  off  at  a  gallop.  Meanwhile,  the 
Marquis  of  Lafare  returned  to  the  château  with  the  two 
letters  iu  his  hand. 


332  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF   THE   END. 

The  same  day,  towards  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
while  D'Harmental,  profiting  by  Buvat's  absence,  was 
repeating  to  Bathilde  for  the  thousandth  time  that  he 
loved  her,  Nanette  entered,  and  announced  that  some  one 
was  waiting  in  his  own  room  on  important  business. 
D'Harmental,  anxious  to  know  who  this  inopportune 
visitor  could  be,  went  to  the  window,  and  saw  the  Abbé 
Brigand  walking  up  and  down  his  room.  D'Harmental 
instantly  took  leave  of  Bathilde,  and  went  up  to  his  own 
apartments. 

"Well,"  said  the  abbé,  "while  you  are  quietly  making 
love  to  your  neighbour,  fine  things  are  happening." 

"What  things?"  asked  D'Harmental. 

"Do  you  not  know?  " 

"  I  know  absolutely  nothing,  except  that  —  unless  what 
you  have  to  tell  me  is  of  the  greatest  importance  —  I 
should  like  to  strangle  you  for  having  disturbed  me;  so 
take  care,  and  if  you  have  not  any  news  worthy  of  the 
occasion,  invent  some." 

"Unfortunately,"  replied  the  abbé,  "the  reality  leaves 
little  to  the  imagination." 

"Indeed,  my  dear  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  "you  look 
in  a  terrible  fright.     What  has  happened?     Tell  me." 

"  Oh,  only  that  we  have  been  betrayed  by  some  one. 
That  the  Maréchal  de  Villeroy  was  arrested  this  morning 
at  Versailles,  and  that  the  two  letters  from  Philip  V.  are 
in  the  hands  of  the  regent." 

D'Harmental  perfectly  understood  the  gravity  of  the 
situation,  but  his  face  exhibited  the  calmness  which  was 
habitual  to  him  in  moments  of  danger. 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE   END.  333 

"Is  that  all?"  lie  asked,  quietly. 

"All  for  the  present;  and  if  you  do  not  think  it  enough, 
you  are  difficult  to  satisfy." 

"My  dear  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  "when  we  entered 
on  this  conspiracy  it  was  with  almost  equal  chances  of 
success  and  failure.  Yesterday  our  chances  were  ninety 
to  a  hundred  ;  to-day  they  are  only  thirty  ;  that  is  all.  " 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  do  not  easily  allow  yourself 
to  be  discouraged,"  said  Brigaud. 

"My  dear  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  "at  this  moment  I 
am  a  happy  man,  and  I  see  everything  on  the  bright  side. 
If  you  had  taken  me  in  a  moment  of  sadness,  it  would 
have  been  quite  the  reverse,  and  I  should  have  replied 
'Amen'  to  your  '  De  Profuudis.'  " 

"And  your  opinion?" 

"  Is  that  the  game  is  becoming  perplexed,  but  it  is  not 
yet  lost.  The  Maréchal  de  Villeroy  is  not  of  the  con- 
spiracy, does  not  even  know  the  names  of  the  conspirators. 
Philip  V. 's  letters  —  as  far  as  I  remember  them  —  do  not 
name  anybody;  and  the  only  person  really  compromised 
is  the  Prince  de  Cellamare.  The  inviolability  of  his  char- 
acter protects  him  from  any  real  danger.  Besides,  if  our 
plan  has  reached  the  Cardinal  Alberoni,  Monsieur  de 
Saint-Aignan  must  serve  as  hostage." 

"There  is  truth  in  what  you  say." 

"And  from  whom  have  you  this  news?"  asked  the 
chevalier. 

"  From  Valef,  who  had  it  from  Madame  du  Maine  ;  who, 
on  receipt  of  the  news,  went  to  the  Prince  of  Cellamare 
himself." 

"We  must  see  Valef." 

"  I  have  appointed  him  to  meet  me  here,  and  on  my  way 
I  stopped  at  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour's.  I  am  aston- 
ished that  he  is  not  here  before  me." 

"Raoul,"  said  a  voice  on  the  staircase. 

"Stay,  it  is  he,"  cried  D'Harmental,  running  to  the 
door  and  opening  it. 


334  THE   CHEVALIER   d'hARMENTAL. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Valef,  "for  your  assistance,  whicli 
is  very  seasonable,  for  I  was  just  going  away,  convinced 
that  Brigaud  must  have  made  a  mistake,  and  that  no 
Christian  could  live  at  such  a  height,  and  in  such  a  pigeon- 
hole, I  must  certainly  bring  Madame  du  JMaine  here,  that 
she  may  know  what  she  owes  you." 

"God  grant,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  "that  we  may  not 
all  be  worse  lodged  a  few  days  hence  !  " 

"Ah  !  you  mean  the  Bastille  !  It  is  possible,  abbé;  but 
at  least  one  does  not  go  to  the  Bastille  of  one's  own 
accord;  moreover,  it  is  a  ToyaA  lodging,  which  raises  it 
a  little,  and  makes  it  a  place  where  a  gentleman  may  live 
without  degradation;  but  a  place  like  this  —  fie,  abbé!  " 

"If  you  knew  what  I  have  found  here,"  said  D'Har- 
mental,  a  little  piqued,  "you  would  be  as  unwilling  to 
leave  it  as  I  am." 

"Ah,  some  little  bourgeoise;  some  Madame  Michelin, 
perhaps.  Take  care,  D'Harmental;  these  things  are  only 
allowed  to  Richelieu.  With  you  and  me,  who  are  perhaps 
worth  as  much  as  he  is,  but  are  unfortunately  not  quite 
so  much  in  fashion,  it  will  not  do." 

"Well,"  said  the  Abbé  Brigaud,  "although  your  con- 
versation is  somewhat  frivolous,  I  hear  it  with  pleasure, 
since  it  assures  me  that  our  affairs  are  not  so  bad  as  I 
thought." 

"On  the  contrary,  the  conspiracy  is  gone  to  the  devil." 

"How  so?" 

"  I  scarcely  thought  they  would  leave  me  time  to  bring 
you  the  news." 

"  Were  you  nearly  arrested  then,  Valef?  "  asked  D'Har- 
mental. 

"I  only  escaped  by  a  hair's  breadth." 

"How  did  it  happen,  baron?" 

"You  remember,  abbé,  that  I  left  you  to  go  to  the 
Prince  de  Cellamare  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  was  there  when  they  came  to  seize  his  papers." 


THE    BEGINNING   OF    THE    END.  335 

"Have  they  seized  the  prince's  papers  ?  " 

"All  except  what  we  burnt,  which  unfortunately  were 
the  smaller  number." 

"Then  we  are  all  lost,"  said  the  abbé. 

"Why,  my  dear  abbé,  how  you  throw  the  helve  after 
the  hatchet  !  " 

"But,  Valef,  you  have  not  told  us  how  it  happened," 
said  D'Harmental. 

"  My  dear  chevalier,  imagine  the  most  ridiculous  thing 
in  the  world.  I  wish  you  had  been  there;  we  should  have 
laughed  fit  to  kill  ourselves.  It  would  have  enraged  that 
fellow  Dubois." 

"  What  !  was  Dubois  himself  at  the  ambassador's  ?  " 

"In  person,  abbé.  Imagine  the  Prince  de  Cellamare 
and  I  quietly  sitting  by  the  corner  of  the  fire,  taking  out 
letters  from  a  little  casket,  and  burning  those  which 
seemed  to  deserve  the  honours  of  an  auto-da-fe,  when  all 
at  once  his  valet  de  chambre  enters,  and  announces  that  the 
hotel  of  the  embassy  is  invested  by  a  body  of  musketeers, 
and  that  Dubois  and  Leblanc  wish  to  speak  to  him.  The 
object  of  this  visit  is  not  difficult  to  guess.  The  prince  — 
without  taking  the  trouble  to  choose  —  empties  the  caskets 
into  the  fire,  pushes  me  into  a  dressing-closet,  and  orders 
that  they  shall  be  admitted.  The  order  was  useless. 
Dubois  and  Leblanc  were  at  the  door.  Fortunately, 
neither  one  nor  the  other  had  seen  me." 

"Well,  I  see  nothing  droll  as  yet,"  said  Brigand. 

"  This  is  just  where  it  begins,"  replied  Valef.  "  Remem- 
ber that  I  was  in  the  closet,  seeing  and  hearing  every- 
thing. Dubois  entered,  and  stretching  out  his  weasel's 
head  to  watch  the  Prince  de  Cellamare,  who,  wrapped  in 
his  dressing-gown,  stood  before  the  fire  to  give, the  papers 
time  to  burn. 

"  'Monsieur,'  said  the  prince,  in  that  phlegmatic  manner 
you  know  he  has,  'may  I  know  to  what  event  I  owe  the 
honour  of  this  visit  ?  ' 

"'Oh,  mo7i  Dieu,  monseigneur  !  '  said  Dubois,  'to  a  very 


336  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

simple  thing, — a  desire  which  Monsieur  Leblanc  and  I 
had  to  learn  a  little  of  your  papers,  of  which,'  added  he, 
showing  the  letters  of  Philip  V.,  'these  two  patterns  have 
given  us  a  foretaste.'  " 

"  How  !  "  said  Brigaud,  "  these  letters  seized  at  ten 
o'clock  at  Versailles  are  in  Dubois's  hands  at  one 
o'clock  !  " 

"  As  you  say,  abbé.  You  see  that  they  travelled  faster 
than  if  they  had  been  put  in  the  post." 

"  And  what  did  the  prince  say  then  ?  "  asked  D'Har- 
mental. 

"Oh!  the  prince  wished  to  carry  it  off  with  a  high  hand, 
by  appealing  to  his  rights  as  an  envoy;  but  Dubois,  who 
is  not  wanting  in  a  certain  logic,  showed  him  that  he  had 
himself  somewhat  violated  these  rights,  by  covering  the 
conspiracy  with  his  ambassador's  cloak.  In  short,  as  he 
was  the  weakest,  he  was  obliged  to  submit  to  what  he 
could  not  prevent.  Besides,  Leblanc,  without  asking  per- 
mission, had  already  opened  the  desk  and  examined  its 
contents,  while  Dubois  drew  out  the  drawers  of  a  bureau, 
and  rummaged  in  them.  All  at  once  Cellamare  left  his 
place,  and  stopping  Leblanc,  who  had  just  taken  a  packet 
of  papers  tied  with  red  ribbon,  — 

"  *  Pardon,  monsieur,  '  said  he,  '  to  each  one  his  preroga- 
tives.    These  are  ladies'  letters.' 

"  *  Thanks  for  your  confidence,  '  said  Dubois,  not  in  the 
least  disconcerted,  but  rising  and  taking  the  papers  from 
the  hand  of  Leblanc;  'I  am  accustomed  to  these  sort  of 
secrets,  and  yours  shall  be  well  kept.  ' 

"At  this  moment,  looking  towards  the  fire,  he  saw  —  in 
the  midst  of  the  burnt  letters — a  paper  still  untouched, 
and  darting  towards  it,  he  seized  it  just  as  the  flames  were 
reaching  it.  The  movement  was  so  rapid  that  the  ambas- 
sador could  not  prevent  it,  and  the  paper  was  in  Dubois's 
hands. 

"* Peste /^  said  the  prince,  seeing  Dubois  shaking  his 
fingers,  *I  knew  that  the  regent  had  skilful  spies,  but  1 


THE    BEGINNING   OF    THE    END.  337 

did  not  know  that  they  were  brave  enough  to  go  into  the 
fire.' 

*' *J/a /oi.'  prince,'  said  Dubois,  unfolding  the  paper, 
'  they  are  well  rewarded  for  their  bravery,  see.' 

"The  prince  cast  his  eyes  over  the  paper;  I  do  not  know 
what  it  contained,  but  I  know  that  the  prince  turned  pale 
as  death;  and  that,  as  Dubois  burst  out  laughing,  Cella- 
mare  broke  in  pieces  a  little  marble  statue  which  was  near 
his  hand. 

"  *I  am  glad  it  was  not  I,'  said  Dubois,  coldly,  and 
putting  the  paper  in  his  pocket. 

"'Every  one  in  turn,  monsieur;  Heaven  is  just!'  said 
the  ambassador. 

"  'Meanwhile,'  said  Dubois,  *  as  we  have  got  what  we 
wanted,  and  have  not  much  time  to  lose  to-day,  we  will 
set  about  affixing  the  seals.' 

"  'The  seals  here  !  '  cried  the  ambassador,  exasperated. 

"  'With  your  permission,'  replied  Dubois  ;  'proceed, 
Monsieur  Leblanc' 

"  Leblanc  drew  out  from  a  bag  bands  and  wax,  all  ready 
prepared.  They  began  operations  with  the  desk  and  the 
bureau,  then  they  advanced  towards  the  door  of  my  closet. 

"  'No,'  cried  the  prince,  *I  will  not  permit — ' 

"  'Gentlemen,'  said  Dubois,  opening  the  door,  and  in- 
troducing into  the  room  two  officers  of  musketeers,  'the 
ambassador  of  Spain  is  accused  of  high  treason  against 
the  State.  Have  the  kindness  to  accompany  him  to  the 
carriage  which  is  waiting,  and  take  him  —  you  know 
where;  if  he  resists,  call  eight  men  and  take  him  by 
force.'" 

"  Well,  and  what  did  the  prince  do  then  ?  "  asked 
Brigaud. 

"  What  you  would  have  done  in  his  place,  I  presume, 
my  dear  abbé.  He  followed  the  two  officers,  and  five 
minutes  afterwards  your  humble  servant  found  himself 
under  seal." 

"How  the  devil  did  you  get  out?"  cried  D'Harmental. 

22 


338  THE    CllKVALIER    d'HARMENTAL. 

"That  is  the  beauty  of  it.  Hardly  was  the  prince  gone, 
when  Dubois  called  the  valet  de  chambre. 

"  *  What  are  you  called?  '  asked  Dubois. 

"  *  Lapierre,  at  your  service,  monseigneur.' 

*'  '  My  dear  Leblanc,  '  said  Dubois,  'explain,  if  you  please, 
to  Monsieur  Lapierre,  what  are  the  penalties  for  breaking 
seals.' 

"  *  The  galleys,'  replied  Leblanc. 

"'My  dear  Monsieur  Lapierre,'  continued  Dubois,  in 
a  mild  tone,  'you  hear.  If  you  like  to  spend  a  few  years 
rowing  on  one  of  his  Majesty's  vessels,  touch  one  of  these 
seals  and  the  affair  is  done.  If,  on  the  contrary,  a  hundred 
louis  are  agreeable  to  you,  keep  them  faithfully,  and  in 
three  days  the  money  shall  be  given  you.' 

"  '  I  prefer  the  hundred  louis,  '  said  the  scoundrel. 

"  *  Well,  then,  sign  this  paper.  We  constitute  you 
guardian  of  the  prince's  cabinet.' 

"  '  I  am  at  your  orders,  monseigneur,'  replied  Lapierre; 
and  he  signed. 

"  '  Now,'  said  Dubois,  'you  understand  all  the  responsi- 
bility you  have  undertaken  ?  ' 

"  'Yes,  monseigneur.' 

*'  *  And  submit  to  it.' 

"'Ido.' 

"  *  Now,  Leblanc,  '  said  Dubois,  '  we  have  nothing  further 
to  do  here,  and,'  added  he,  showing  the  paper  which  he 
had  snatched  from  the  fire,  '  I  have  all  I  wanted.  ' 

"  And  at  these  words  he  left,  followed  by  Leblanc. 

"Lapierre,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  them  off,  ran  to  the 
cabinet,  and  exclaimed,  'Quick,  baron,  we  must  profit  by 
our  being  alone  for  you  to  leave.' 

"  '  Did  you  know  I  was  here  then,  fellow  ?  ' 

"  '  Pardietc  !  I  should  not  have  accepted  the  office  of 
guardian  if  I  had  not.  I  saw  you  go  in,  and  I  thought 
you  would  not  like  to  stay  there  for  three  days.  ' 

"  *  And  you  were  right;  a  hundred  louis  for  your  good 
idea.' 


THE    BEGINNING   OF   THE    END.  339 

"  '  3Ion  Dieu  !  what  are  you  doing?  '  cried  Lapierre. 

"  *  I  am  trying  to  get  out.' 

"  *  Oh,  not  by  the  door  !  You  would  not  send  a  poor 
fellow  to  the  galleys;  besides,  they  have  taken  the  key 
with  them.' 

"  *  And  where  am  I  to  get  out,  then  ?  ' 

"  *  Raise  your  head.' 

"  'It  is  raised.' 

"  'Look  in  the  air.' 

"  *  I  am  looking.' 

"  '  To  your  right.     Do  you  not  see  anything  ?  ' 

"  *  Yes,  a  little  window.' 

"  '  Well,  get  on  a  chair,  on  anything  you  find  ;  it  opens 
into  the  alcove,  let  yourself  slip  now,  you  will  fall  on  the 
bed,  —  that  is  it.    You  have  not  hurt  yourself,  monsieur?  ' 

"'iSTo,  I  hope  the  prince  will  have  as  comfortable  a  bed 
where  they  are  taking  him.' 

"  *  And  I  hope  monsieur  will  not  forget  the  service  I 
have  rendered  him.' 

"  '  Oh,  the  hundred  louis?  Well,  as  I  do  not  want  to 
part  with  money  at  this  moment,  take  this  ring,  it  is 
worth  three  hundred  pistoles  ;  you  gain  six  hundred  francs 
on  the  bargain.' 

"  '  Monsieur  is  the  most  generous  gentleman  I  know.' 

"  *  Now,  tell  me  how  I  must  go.' 

"  *  By  this  little  staircase;  you  will  find  yourself  in  the 
pantry;  you  must  then  go  through  the  kitchen  into  the 
garden,  and  go  out  by  the  little  door.' 

"  '  Thanks  for  the  itinerary.' 

"I  followed  the  instructions  of  Monsieur  Lapierre 
exactly,  and  here  I  am." 

"And  the  prince;  where  is  he  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier. 

"How  do  I  know?     In  prison  probably." 

^^ Diable!  diable!  diable!"  said  Brigand. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  to  my  Odyssey,  abbé  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  it  would  be  very  droll  if  it  was  not  for  that 
cursed  paper  which  Dubois  picked  out  of  the  cinders." 


o40  TUE    CHEVALIER   D'IIAUMENÏAL. 

"Yes,"  said  Valef,  "that  spoils  it." 

"  Aud  you  have  not  any  idea  wliat  it  could  be?" 

"Not  the  least;  but  never  niind,  it  is  not  lost,  we  shall 
know  some  day." 

At  this  moment  they  heard  some  one  coming  up  the 
staircase.     The  door  opened,  and  Boniface  appeared. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur  Kaoul,"  said  he,  "but  it  is  not  you 
I  seek;  it  is  Father  Brigaud." 

"jS^ever  mind,  my  dear  Boniface,  you  are  welcome. 
Baron,  allow  me  to  present  you  to  my  predecessor  in  my 
room.  The  son  of  our  worthy  landlady,  and  godson  of  the 
Abbé  Brigaud." 

"  Oh,  you  have  friends  barons.  Monsieur  Raoul  !  what 
an  honour  for  our  house  !  " 

"Well,"  said  the  abbé,  "you  were  looking  for  me  you 
said.     What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"I  want  nothing.     It  was  my  mother  who  sent  for  you." 

"  What  does  she  want?     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  She  wants  to  know  why  the  parliament  is  to  assemble 
to-morrow." 

"  The  parliament  assemble  to-morrow  !  "  cried  Valef  and 
D'Harmental  together. 

"  And  how  did  your  mother  know  ?  " 

"I  told  her." 

"And  how  did  you  know  ?" 

"At  the  office.  Maître  Joullu  was  with  the  president 
when  the  order  arrived." 

"Well,  tell  your  mother  I  will  come  to  her  directly." 

"She  will  expect  you.     Adieu,  Monsieur  Raoul." 

And  Monsieur  Boniface  went  out,  far  from  suspecting 
the  effect  he  had  produced  on  his  listeners. 

"  It  is  some  coup-d' état  which  is  preparing,"  murmured 
D'Harmental. 

"  I  will  go  to  Madame  du  Maine  to  warn  her,"  said  Valef. 

"And  I  to  Pompadour  for  news,"  said  Brigaud. 

"And  I,"  said  D'Harmental,  "remain  here;  if  I  am 
wanted,  abbé,  you  know  where  I  am." 


1"HE   BEGINNING   OF   THE   END.  341 

"But  if  you  were  not  at  home,  chevalier  ?" 
"Oh!  I  should  not  be  far  off.     Open   the  window,  clap 
your  hands,  and  I  should  come." 

Valef  and  Brigand  went  away  together,  and  D'Har- 
mental  went  back  to  Bathilde,  whom  he  found  very  un- 
easy. It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  Buvat  had 
not  returned,  —  it  was  the  first  time  such  a  thing  had  ever 
happened. 


342  THE   CHEVALIER   U'HAKMENTàL. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


PARLIAMENTARY    JUSTICE. 


The  following  day,  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Brigand  came  to  t'etcli  D'Harmental,  and  found  the  young 
man  ready  and  waiting.  They  both  wrapped  themselves 
in  their  cloaks,  drew  down  tlieir  hats  over  their  eyes, 
and  proceeded  through  the  Rue  de  Cléry,  the  Place  des 
Victoires,  and  the  garden  of  the  Palais  Royal. 

On  reaching  the  Rue  de  l'Echelle,  they  began  to  per- 
ceive an  unusual  stir.  All  the  avenues  leading  towards 
the  Tuileries  were  guarded  by  detachments  of  musketeers 
and  light  horse,  and  the  people,  expelled  from  the  court 
and  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  crowded  into  the  Place  du 
Carousel.  D'Harmental  and  Brigand  mixed  with  the 
mob. 

Having  arrived  at  the  place  where  the  triumphal  arch 
now  stands,  they  were  accosted  by  an  officer  of  Gray 
Musketeers,  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak  like  themselves.  It 
was  Valef. 

"Well,  baron,"  asked  Brigaud,  "what  news  ?" 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  abbé,"  said  Valef;  "we  have  been  look- 
ing for  you,  Laval,  Malezieux,  and  myself.  I  have  just 
left  them;  they  must  be  somewhere  near.  Let  us  stop 
here;  it  will  not  be  long  before  they  find  us.  Do  you 
know  anything  yourself  ?  " 

"ISTo,  nothing.  I  called  at  Malezieux's,  but  he  had 
already  gone  out." 

"  Say  that  he  was  not  yet  come  home.  We  remained  at 
the  Arsenal  all  night." 

"  And  no  hostile  demonstration  has  been  made  ?  "  asked 
D'Harmental. 


PARLIAMENTAUY    JUSTICE.  343 

''None.  Monsieur  le  Duc  du  Maine  and  Monsieur  le 
Comte  de  Toulouse  were  summoned  for  the  regent's  coun- 
cil, which,  is  to  be  held  before  the  sitting  of  the  parlia- 
ment. At  half-past  six  they  were  both  at  the  Tuileries, 
so  Madame  du  Maine,  in  order  to  get  the  news  as  soon  as 
possible,  has  come  and  installed  herself  in  her  superin- 
tendent's apartments." 

"Is  it  known  what  has  become  of  the  Prince  de  Cella- 
mare?  "  asked  D'Harmental. 

"He  is  sent  to  Orléans,  in  a  chaise  and  four,  in  the 
company  of  a  gentleman  of  the  king's  household,  and  an 
escort  of  a  dozen  light  horse." 

"And  is  nothing  known  about  the  paper  which  Dubois 
picked  out  of  the  cinders  ?  "  asked  Brigaud. 

"Nothing." 

"What  does  Madame  du  Maine  think  ?  " 

"  That  he  is  brewing  something  against  the  legitimated 
princes,  and  that  he  will  profit  by  this  to  take  away  some 
more  of  their  privileges.  This  morning  she  lectured  her 
husband  sharply,  and  he  promised  to  remain  firm,  but  she 
does  not  rely  upon  him." 

"  And  Monsieur  de  Toulouse  ?  " 

"We  saw  him  yesterday  evening;  but,  you  know,  my 
dear  abbé,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  with  his  modesty, 
or  rather  his  humility.  He  always  thinks  that  they  have 
done  too  much  for  him,  and  is  ready  to  abandon  to  the 
regent  anything  that  is  asked  of  him." 

"By  the  bye,  the  king  ?" 

"Well,  the  king  — " 

"  Yes,  how  has  he  taken  the  arrest  of  his  tutor?  " 

"Ah!  do  you  not  know?  It  seems  that  there  was  a 
compact  between  the  marshal  and  Monsieur  de  Fréjus, 
tliat  if  one  of  them  left  his  Majesty,  the  other  should  leave 
immediately.  Yesterday  morning  Monsieur  de  Fréjus  dis- 
appeared." 

"And  where  is  he?" 

"  God  knows  !     And  so  the  king,  who  had  taken  the  loss 


344  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

of  his  marsha]  very  well,  was  inconsolable  at  that  of  his 
bishop." 

"And  how  do  you  know  all  that  ?" 

"Through  the  Due  de  Eichelieu,  who  went  yesterday, 
about  two  o'clock,  to  Versailles,  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
king,  and  who  found  his  Majesty  in  despair  in  the  midst  of 
the  china  and  ornaments  which  he  had  broken.  Unfortu- 
nately, Richelieu,  instead  of  encouraging  the  king's  grief, 
made  him  laugh  by  telling  him  a  hundred  stories,  and 
almost  consoled  him  by  helping  him  to  break  the  rest  of 
the  china  and  ornaments." 

At  this  moment  an  individual  clothed  in  a  long  advo- 
cate's robe,  and  with  a  square  cap,  passed  near  the  group 
which  was  formed  by  Brigand,  D'Harmental,  and  Valef, 
humming  the  burden  of  a  song  made  on  the  marshal  after 
the  battle  of  Ramillies.  Brigand  turned  round,  and, 
under  the  disguise,  thought  he  recognised  Pompadour. 
On  his  part  the  advocate  stopped  and  approached  the 
group  in  question.  The  abbé  had  no  longer  any  doubt. 
It  was  really  the  marquis. 

"  Well,  Maître  Clément,  "  said  he,  "  what  news  from  the 
palace  ?  " 

"Oh!"  answered  Pompadour,  "good  news,  particularly 
if  it  be  true  ;  they  say  that  the  parliament  refuses  to  come 
to  the  Tuileries." 

"  Vive  Dieu  f  "  cried  Valef,  "  that  will  reconcile  me  with 
the  red  robes.     But  they  will  not  dare." 

"Why  not?  You  know  that  Monsieur  de  Mesme  is  for 
us,  and  has  been  named  president  through  the  influence  of 
Monsieur  du  Maine." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  but  that  is  long  since,"  said  Brigand; 
"and  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  rely  upon,  Maître 
Clément,  I  should  advise  you  not  to  count  upon  him." 

"Particularly,"  answered  Valef,  "as  he  has  just  obtained 
from  the  regent  the  payment  of  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  of  his  salary." 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  D'Harmental,   "see,  it  appears  to  me 


PARLIAMENTARY    JUSTICE.  345 

that  something  new  is  going  on.  Are  they  not  coming  out 
of  the  regent's  council  ?  " 

Indeed,  a  great  movement  was  taking  place  in  the  court 
of  the  Tuileries,  and  the  two  carriages  of  the  Due  du 
Maine  and  the  Comte  de  Toulouse  left  their  post  and 
approached  the  clock  pavilion.  At  the  same  instant  they 
saw  the  two  brothers  appear.  They  exchanged  few  words, 
each  got  into  his  own  carriage,  and  the  two  vehicles 
departed  at  a  rapid  pace  by  the  water-side  wicket. 

For  ten  minutes  Brigaud,  D'Harmental,  Pompadour, 
and  Valef  were  lost  in  conjectures  regarding  this  event, 
which,  having  been  remarked  by  others  as  well  as  by 
them,  had  made  a  sensation  amongst  the  crowd,  but  with- 
out being  able  to  assign  it  to  its  proper  cause.  Then  they 
noticed  Malezieux,  who  appeared  to  be  looking  for  them; 
they  went  to  him,  and  by  his  discomposed  face  they 
judged  that  the  information  which  he  had  to  bring  was 
not  comforting. 

"  Well,  "  asked  Pompadour,  "  have  you  any  idea  of  what 
has  been  going  on  ?  " 

"Alas!"  answered  Malezieux,  "I  am  afraid  that  all  is 
lost." 

"You  know  that  the  Due  du  Maine  and  the  Comte  de 
Toulouse  have  left  the  council?"  asked  Valef. 

"I  was  on  the  quay  when  he  passed  in  his  carriage,  and 
he  recognised  me,  and  stopped  the  carriage,  and  sent  me 
this  little  pencil  note  by  his  valet  de  chamhrey 

"Let  us  see,"  said  Brigand,  and  he  read:  — 

I  do  not  know  what  is  plotting  against  us,  but  the  regent  invited 
us  —  Toulouse  and  me  —  to  leave  the  council.  That  invitat\o(« 
appeared  to  me  an  order,  and  as  all  resistance  would  have  been  use- 
less, seeing  that  we  have  in  the  council  only  four  or  five  voices,  upon 
which  we  cannot  count,  I  was  obliged  to  obey.  Try  and  see  the 
duchess,  who  must  be  at  the  Tuileries,  and  tell  her  that  I  am  retiring 
to  Rambouillet,  where  I  shall  wait  for  the  turn  of  events. 

Your  affectionate 

Louis  Auguste, 


346  TIÏR    CHKVALIKR    U'iIAlîMENTAL. 

"The  coward,"  said  Valef. 

"And  these  are  the  meu  for  whom  we  risk  our  heads," 
murmured  Pompadour. 

"You  are  mistaken,  my  dear  marquis,"  said  Brigaud; 
"  we  risk  our  heads  on  our  own  account  I  hope,  and  not 
for  others.  Is  not  that  true,  chevalier?  Well,  what  the 
devil  are  you  about  now  ?  " 

"Wait,  abbé,"  answered  D'Harmental;  "I  seem  to 
recognise  —  yes,  by  heaven,  it  is  he  !  You  will  not  go 
away  from  this  place,  gentlemen  !  " 

"No,  I  answer  for  myself  at  least,"  said  Pompadour. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Valef. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Malezieux. 

"  Nor  I,  "  said  the  abbé. 

"Well,  then,  I  will  rejoin  you  in  an  instant." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Brigaud. 

"Do  not  look,  abbé,"  said  D'Harmental,  "it  is  on 
private  business." 

Dropping  Valef 's  arm,  D'Harmental  began  to  traverse 
the  crowd  in  the  direction  of  an  individual  whom  he  had 
been  following  with  his  eyes  for  some  time,  and  who, 
thanks  to  his  personal  strength,  had  approached  the  gate. 

"Captain,"  said  the  chevalier,  tapping  Roquefinette  on 
the  shoulder,  and  hoping  that,  thanks  to  the  movement 
occasioned  by  the  approach  of  the  parliament,  they  should 
be  able  to  talk  without  being  observed,  "  can  I  say  a  few 
words  to  you  in  private  ?  " 

"Yes,  chevalier,  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  What  is 
it?"  continued  he,  drawing  back.  "I  have  recognised 
you  for  the  last  five  minutes,  but  it  was  not  my  business 
to  speak  first." 

"And  I  see  with  pleasure,"  said  D'Harmental,  "that 
Captain  Roquefinette  is  still  prudent." 

"Prudentissimo,  chevalier;  so  if  you  have  any  new 
overture  to  make,  out  with  it." 

"No,  captain,  no;  not  at  present,  at  least.  Besides,  the 
place  is  not  suitable  for  a  conference  of  that  nature.     Only 


PARLIAMENTARY    JUSTICE.  347 

I  vrish  to  know,  in  case  of  my  having  need  of  you,  whether 
you  still  live  in  the  same  place?" 

"Still,  chevalier;  I  am  like  a  brier, — I  die  where  I 
grow;  only,  instead  of  your  finding  me,  as  you  did  the 
first  time,  on  the  first  or  second  floor,  you  will  have 
to  look  for  me  on  the  fifth  or  sixth,  seeing  that,  by  a 
very  natural  see-saw  movement,  as  my  funds  lower  I 
go  up." 

"How,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  laughing,  and 
putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  "you  are  in  want  of 
money,  and  you  do  not  address  yourself  to  your  friends?  " 

"I  borrow  money!"  cried  the  captain,  stopping  D'Har- 
mental's  liberal  intentions  with  a  sign;  "no;  when  I  do 
you  a  service  you  make  me  a  present;  well  and  good. 
When  I  conclude  a  bargain,  you  execute  the  conditions. 
But  I  to  ask  without  having  a  right  to  ask  !  It  may  do 
for  a  church  rat,  but  not  for  a  soldier  ;  although  I  am  only 
a  simple  gentleman,  I  am  as  proud  as  a  duke  or  a  peer; 
but,  pardon  me,  if  you  want  me,  you  know  where  to  find 
me.     Aic  revoir,  chevalieT  I  au  revoir  !^^ 

And,  without  waiting  for  D'Harmental's  answer,  Koque- 
finette  left  him,  not  thinking  it  safe  that  they  should  be 
seen  talking  together. 

As  it  was  only  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  however, 
and  as  in  all  probability  the  parliament  would  not  break 
up  till  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  as,  no  doubt,  there  was 
nothing  determined  on  yet,  the  chevalier  thought  that, 
instead  of  remaining  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  he  would 
do  better  to  turn  the  four  hours  which  he  had  before  him 
to  the  profit  of  his  love.  Moreover,  the  nearer  he  ap- 
proached to  the  catastrophe,  the  more  need  he  felt  of  see- 
ing Bathilde.  Bathilde  had  become  one  of  the  elements 
of  his  life;  one  of  the  organs  necessary  to  his  existence; 
and,  at  the  moment  when  he  might  perhaps  be  separated 
from  her  for  ever,  he  did  not  understand  how  he  could 
live  a  single  day  away  from  her.  Consequently,  pressed 
by  the  eternal  craving  for  the  presence  of  the  loved  objectj 


348  THE   CHEVALIEIi   D'IIARMENTAL. 

the  chevalier,  instead  of  going  to  look  for  his  companions, 
went  towards  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu. 

D'Harmental  found  the  poor  child  very  uneasj'.  Buvat 
had  not  come  home  since  half-past  nine  the  morning 
before.  Nanette  had  been  to  inquire  at  the  library,  and  to 
her  great  astonishment,  and  the  scandal  of  his  fellow 
clerks,  she  had  learned  that  he  had  not  been  there  for  live 
or  six  days.  Such  a  derangement  in  Buvat's  habits  indi- 
cated serious  events.  On  the  other  hand,  the  young  girl 
had  noticed  in  Raoul,  the  day  before,  a  sort  of  nervous 
agitation,  which,  although  kept  down  by  determination, 
gave  warning  of  an  important  crisis.  Thus,  joining  her 
old  fears  to  her  new  agonies,  Bathilde  felt  instinctively 
that  a  misfortune,  invisible  but  inevitable,  hung  above 
her,  and  that  at  any  moment  it  might  fall  on  her  devoted 
head. 

But  when  Bathilde  saw  Raoul,  all  fear,  past  or  future, 
was  lost  in  the  happiness  of  the  present.  On  his  part, 
Raoul,  whether  it  was  self-command  or  a  similar  feeling 
to  her  own,  thought  of  nothing  but  Bathilde,  Neverthe- 
less, this  time  the  preoccupations  on  both  sides  were  so 
powerful  that  Bathilde  could  not  help  expressing  her  un- 
easiness to  Raoul;  he  made  but  little  answer,  for  the 
absence  of  Buvat  became  connected  in  his  mind  with  some 
suspicions  which  he  had  entertained  for  a  minute,  and 
then  cast  from  him.  The  time,  nevertheless,  flowed  away 
with  its  accustomed  rapidity,  and  four  o'clock  struck 
when  the  lovers  fancied  that  they  had  only  been  together 
a  few  minutes,  it  was  the  hour  at  which  he  generally 
took  his  leave. 

If  Buvat  returned,  he  would  probably  return  at  this  time. 
After  exchanging  a  hundred  vows,  the  two  young  people 
separated,  agreeing  that,  if  anything  new  happened  to 
either  of  them,  whatever  hour  of  the  day  or  night  it 
might  be,  they  should  let  the  other  know  directly. 

At  the  door  of  Madame  Denis's  house  D'Harmental  met 
Brigaud.     The  sitting  was  over,  and  nothing  positive  was 


PAKLJ.AiMENTAKY    JUSTICE.  349 

yet  known,  but  vague  rumours  were  afloat  that  terrible 
measures  had  been  taken.  The  information  must  soon 
arrive,  and  Brigand  had  fixed  a  rendezvous  with  Pompa- 
doui-  and  Malezieux  at  D'Harmental's  lodgings,  which,  as 
they  were  the  least  known,  must  be  tlie  least  watched. 

In  about  an  hour  the  Marquis  de  Pompadour  arrived. 
The  parliament  had  at  first  wished  to  make  opposition, 
but  everything  had  given  way  before  the  will  of  the  regent. 
The  King  of  Spain's  letters  had  been  read  and  condemned. 
It  had  been  decided  that  the  dukes  and  peers  should  rank 
immediately  after  the  princes  of  the  blood.  The  honours 
of  the  legitimated  princes  were  restricted  to  the  simple 
rank  of  their  peerages.  Finally,  the  Due  du  Maine  lost 
the  superintendence  of  the  king's  education,  which  was 
given  to  the  Due  de  Bourbon.  The  Comte  de  Toulouse 
alone  was  maintained,  during  his  lifetime,  in  his  privi- 
leges and  prerogatives.  Malezieux  arrived  in  his  turn;  he 
had  recently  left  the  duchess.  They  had  just  given  her 
notice  to  quit  her  apartments  in  the  Tuileries,  which 
belonged  henceforward  to  Monsieur  le  Duc.  Such  an 
affront  had,  as  may  easily  be  understood,  exasperated  the 
grand-daughter  of  the  great  Conde.  She  had  flown  into 
a  violent  passion,  broken  all  the  looking-glasses  with  her 
own  hands,  and  had  all  the  furniture  thrown  out  of  the 
window;  then,  this  performance  finished,  she  had  got  into 
her  carriage,  sending  Laval  to  Rambouillet  in  order  to 
urge  Monsieur  du  Maine  to  some  vigorous  action,  and 
charging  Malezieux  to  assemble  all  her  friends  that  even- 
ing at  the  Arsenal. 

Pompadour  and  Brigand  cried  out  against  the  impru- 
dence of  such  a  meeting.  Madame  du  Maine  was  evi- 
dently watched.  To  go  to  the  Arsenal  the  day  when  they 
must  know  that  she  was  the  most  irritated  would  be  to 
compromise  themselves  openly.  Pompadour  and  Brigand 
were  therefore  in  favour  of  going  and  begging  her  High- 
ness to  appoint  some  other  time  or  place  for  the  ren- 
dezvous.    Malezieux  and  D'Harmental  were  of  the  same 


350  THE   CHEVALIER   d'haRMENTAL. 

opinion  regarding  the  danger  of  the  step;  but  they  both 
declared  —  the  first  from  devotion,  tlie  second  from  a  sense 
of  duty  —  tliat  the  more  perilous  the  order  was,  the  more 
honourable  it  would  be  to  obey  it. 

The  discussion,  as  always  happens  in  similar  circum- 
stances, began  to  degenerate  into  a  pretty  sharp  alterca- 
tion, when  they  heard  the  steps  of  two  persons  mounting 
the  stairs.  As  tlie  tliree  individuals  who  had  appointed 
a  meeting  at  D'Harmental's  were  all  assembled,  Brigaud, 
who,  with  his  ear  always  on  the  qui-vive,  had  heard  the 
sound  first,  put  his  finger  to  his  mouth  to  impose  silence 
on  the  disputants.  They  could  plainly  hear  the  steps 
approaching;  then  a  low  whispering,  as  of  two  people 
questioning;  finally,  the  door  opened,  and  gave  entrance 
to  a  soldier  of  the  French  guard  and  a  little  grisette. 

'J'he  guardsman  was  the  lîaron  de  Valef. 

As  to  the  grisette,  she  threw  off  the  little  black  veil 
which  hid  her  face,  and  they  recognised  Madame  du 
Maine. 


MAN   PROPOSES.  351 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MAN    PROPOSES. 

"Your  Highness!  your  Highness  at  my  lodging!"  cried 
D'Harmeutal.  "What  have  I  done  to  merit  such  an 
honour  ?  " 

"The  hour  is  come,  chevalier,"  said  the  duchess,  "when 
it  is  right  that  we  should  show  people  the  opinion  we 
hold  of  their  merits.  It  shall  never  be  said  that  the 
friends  of  Madame  du  Maine  expose  themselves  for  her, 
and  that  she  does  not  expose  herself  with  them.  Thank 
God,  I  am  the  grand-daughter  of  the  great  Conde,  and  I 
feel  that  I  am  worthy  of  my  ancestor." 

"Your  Highness  is  most  welcome,"  said  Pompadour; 
"  for  your  arrival  will  get  us  out  of  a  difficulty.  Decided , 
as  we  were,  to  obey  your  orders,  we  nevertheless  hesitated 
at  the  idea  of  the  danger  incurred  by  an  assembly  at  the 
Arsenal  at  such  a  moment  as  the  present,  when  the  police 
have  their  eyes  upon  it." 

"  And  I  thought  with  you,  marquis  ;  so,  instead  of  wait- 
ing for  you,  I  resolved  to  come  and  seek  you.  The  baron 
accompanied  me.  I  went  to  the  house  of  the  Comtesse 
de  Chavigny,  a  friend  of  De  Launay's,  who  lives  in  the 
Rue  du  Mail.  We  had  clothes  brought  there;  and,  as  we 
were  only  a  few  steps  off,  we  came  here  on  foot,  and  here 
we  are.  On  my  honour,  Messire  Voyer  d'Argenson  would 
be  clever  indeed  if  he  recognized  us  in  this  disguise." 

"I  see,  with  pleasure,"  said  Malezieux,  "that  your 
Highness  is  not  cast  down  by  the  events  of  this  horrible 
day." 

"Cast  down!  I  !  Malezieux,  I  hope  you  know  me  too 
well  to  have  feared  it  for  a  single  instant.     Cast  down  I 


652  THE    CllEVALlKK    u'hARMENTAL. 

On  the  contrary,  I  never  felt  more  vigour  or  more  deter* 
miuation.     Oh,  if  I  only  were  a  man  !  " 

"Let  your  Highness  command,"  saidD'IIarraental,  "and 
everything  that  you  could  do,  if  you  could  act  yourself,  we 
will  do,  — we,  who  stand  in  your  stead." 

"No,  no;  it  is  im})Ossible  that  any  other  should  do  that 
which  I  should  have  done." 

"Nothing  is  impossible,  madame,  to  five  men  as  devoted 
as  we  are.  Moreover,  our  interest  demands  a  prompt  and 
energetic  course  of  action.  It  is  not  reasonable  to  believe 
that  the  regent  will  stop  there.  The  day  after  to-morrow 
—  to-morrow  evening,  perhaps  —  we  shall  all  be  arrested. 
Dubois  gives  out  that  the  paper  which  he  saved  from  the 
flames  at  the  Prince  of  Cellamare's  is  nothing  less  than 
the  list  of  the  conspirators.  In  that  case,  he  knows  all 
our  names.  We  have,  then,  at  this  very  moment,  a  sword 
hanging  over  each  of  our  heads;  do  not  let  us  wait  tamely 
till  the  thread  which  suspends  it  snaps;  let  us  seize  it, 
and  strike  !  " 

"  Strike  !  What  —  where  —  and  how?  "  asked  Brigaud. 
"That  abominable  parliament  has  destroyed  all  our 
schemes.     Have  we  measures  taken,  or  a  plot  made  out?  " 

"The  best  plan  which  has  been  conceived,"  said  Pompa- 
dour, "and  the  one  which  offered  the  greatest  chance  of 
success,  was  the  first;  and  the  proof  is,  that  it  was  only 
overthrown  by  an  unheard  of  circumstance." 

"Well,  if  the  plan  was  good  then,  it  is  so  still,"  said 
Valef  ;  "let  us  return  to  it." 

"Yes,  but  in  failing,"  said  Malezieux,  "this  plan  put  the 
regent  on  his  guard." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Pompadour;  "in  consequence 
of  that  very  failure,  it  will  be  supposed  that  we  have 
abandoned  it." 

"And  the  proof  is,"  said  Valef,  "that  the  regent  on 
this  head  takes  fewer  precautions  than  ever.  For  exam- 
ple, since  his  daughter.  Mademoiselle  de  Chartres,  has 
become  Abbess  of  Chelles,  he  goes  to  see  her  every  week, 


MAN   PROPOSES.  353 

and  he  goes  through  the  wood  of  Vincennes  without  guards, 
and  with  only  a  coachman  and  two  lackeys,  and  that  at 
eight  or  nine  o'clock  at  night." 

"And  what  day  does  he  j)ay  this  visit  ?"  asked Brigaud. 

"Wednesday." 

"That  is  to-morrow,"  said  the  duchess. 

"Brigaud,"  said  Valef,  "have  you  still  the  passport  for 
Spain?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  same  facilities  for  the  route  ?  " 

"The  same.  The  postmaster  is  with  us,  and  we  shall 
have  only  to  explain  to  him." 

"Well,"  said  Valef,  "if  her  Royal  Highness  will  allow 
me,  I  will  to-morrow  call  together  seven  or  eight  friends, 
wait  for  the  regent  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes,  carry  him 
off,  and  in  three  days  I  am  at  Pampeluna." 

"An  instant,  my  dear  baron,"  said  D'Harmental.  "I 
would  observe  to  you  that  you  are  stepping  into  my 
shoes,  and  that  this  undertaking  belongs  to  me  of 
right." 

"  You,  my  dear  chevalier  !  you  have  already  done  what 
you  had  to  do;  now  it  is  our  turn." 

"Not  at  all,  if  you  please,  Valef.  My  honour  is  con- 
cerned in  it,  for  I  have  revenge  to  take.  You  would 
annoy  me  infinitely  by  insisting  on  this  subject." 

"All  that  I  can  do  for  you,  my  dear  D'Harmental,"  said 
Valef,  "is  to  leave  it  to  her  Highness's choice.  She  knows 
that  we  are  equally  devoted  to  her;  let  her  decide." 

"  Will  you  accept  my  arbitration,  chevalier  ?  "  said  the 
duchess. 

"Yes,  for  I  trust  to  your  justice,  madame,"  said 
D'Harmental. 

"And  you  are  right;  yes,  the  honour  of  the  undertaking 
belongs  to  you.  I  place  in  your  hands  the  fate  of  the  son 
of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  and  the  grand-daughter  of  the 
great  Conde.  I  trust  entirely  to  your  devotion  and  cour- 
age, and   I  have  the  greater   hope   of  your   success   that 

23 


354  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

fortune  owes  you  a  compensation.  To  you,  my  dear 
D'Hannental,  all  the  honour,  and  all  the  peril." 

"I  accept  both  with  gratitude,"  said  D'Harmental,  kiss- 
ing the  duchess's  hand;  "and  to-morrow  at  this  hour  I 
shall  be  dead,  or  the  regent  will  be  on  the  way  to  Spain." 

"Very  good,"  said  Pompadour,  "that  is  what  1  call 
speaking;  and  if  you  want  any  one  to  give  you  a  helping 
hand,  my  dear  chevalier,  count  on  me." 

"  And  on  me,"  said  Valef. 

"And  are  we  good  for  nothing  ?"  said  Malezieux. 

"My  dear  chancellor,"  said  the  duchess,  "to  each  one 
his  share.  To  poets,  churchmen,  and  magistrates,  advice; 
to  soldiers,  execution.  Chevalier,  are  you  sure  of  finding 
the  men  who  assisted  you  before  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  of  their  chief,  at  least." 

"  When  shall  you  see  him  ?  " 

"This  evening." 

"  At  what  time  ?  " 

"Directly,  if  your  Highness  wishes  it." 

"The  sooner  the  better." 

"In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  will  be  ready." 

"Where  can  we  learn  the  result  of  the  interview?" 

"  I  will  come  to  your  Highness,  wheresoever  you  may  be." 

"Not  at  the  Arsenal,"  said  Brigand,  "it  is  too  dan- 
gerous." 

"Can  we  not  wait  here?"  asked  the  duchess. 

"Remember,"  said  Brigand,  "that  my  pupil  is  a  steady 
fellow,  receiving  scarcely  any  one,  and  that  a  long  visit 
might  arouse  suspicion." 

"  Can  we  not  fix  a  rendezvous  where  there  would  be  no 
such  fear  ?  "  asked  Pompadour. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  duchess,  "at  the  stone  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  for  instance.  Malezieux  and  I  will  come 
there  in  a  carriage  without  livery  and  without  arms. 
Pompadour,  Valef,  and  Brigand  will  meet  us  there,  each 
one  separately;  there  we  will  wait  for  D'Harmental,  and 
settle  the  last  measure." 


MAN    PROPOSES.  355 

"That  will  suit  well,"  said  D'Harmental,  "for  my  man 
lives  in  the  Eue  Saint  Honoré." 

"You  know,  chevalier,"  replied  the  duchess,  "that  you 
may  promise  as  much  money  as  you  like." 

"I  undertake  to  fill  the  purse,"  said  Brigand. 

"That  is  well,  abbé,  for  I  know  who  will  undertake  to 
empty  it,"  said  D'Harmental. 

"Then  all  is  agreed,"  said  the  duchess.  "In  an  hour, 
in  the  Champs  Ely  sees." 

Then  the  duchess  —  having  readjusted  her  mantle  so  as 
to  hide  her  face  —  took  Valef's  arm  and  went  out.  Male- 
zieux  followed  at  a  little  distance,  taking  care  not  to  lose 
sight  of  her.  Brigand  and  Pompadour  went  out  together, 
and  D'Harmental  went  directly  to  the  Rue  Saint  Honoré. 

Whether  it  were  chance  or  calculation  on  the  part  of  the 
duchess,  who  appreciated  D'Harmental  and  understood 
how  fully  she  might  rely  upon  him,  the  chevalier  found 
himself  more  than  ever  put  forward  in  the  conspiracy: 
but  his  honour  was  engaged;  and  although  he  foresaw  the 
terrible  consequences  of  the  step  which  he  was  about  to 
take,  he  went  boldly  forward,  resolved  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing, even  his  life  and  his  love,  to  the  fulfilment  of  his 
promise. 

He  presented  himself  at  La  Fillon's  with  the  same 
tranquillity  as  before,  although  many  things  were  altered 
in  his  life  since  then,  and  having  been,  as  before,  received 
by  the  mistress  of  the  house  in  person,  he  inquired  if 
Captain  Roquefinette  were  visible. 

Without  doubt  La  Fillon  had  expected  a  much  less 
moral  demand;  for  on  recognising  D'Harmental,  she  could 
not  repress  a  movement  of  surprise.  However,  she  asked 
if  he  were  not  the  same  person,  who  —  two  months  before 
—  had  come  there  to  inquire  for  the  captain.  D'Har- 
mental replied  in  the  affirmative.  As  soon  as  she  was 
informed  on  this  point,  she  called  a  servant  and  ordered 
her  to  conduct  the  chevalier  to  No.  72.  The  girl  obeyed, 
taking  a  candle  and  going  before  D'Harmental,  who  fol 


o56  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

lowed  ber.  This  time  no  songs  guided  him  in  his  ascent; 
all  was  silent  in  the  house;  and,  as  the  chevalier  himself 
was  occupied  with  grave  thoughts,  he  mounted  the  six 
flights  and  knocked  at  once  at  the  door. 

"Enter,"  said  Roquefinette. 

The  chevalier  slipped  a  louis  into  the  servant's  hand, 
opened  the  door,  and  went  in. 

The  same  change  was  observable  in  the  interior  as  in 
the  exterior.  Roquefinette  was  no  longer,  as  on  the  first 
occasion,  sitting  among  the  débris  of  a  feast  surrounded 
by  slaves  smoking  his  long  pipe.  He  was  alone  in  a  little 
dark  attic,  lighted  by  a  single  candle,  which,  nearly  burnt 
out,  gave  more  smoke  than  flame,  and  whose  flickering 
light  gave  a  strange  expression  to  the  harsh  face  of 
the  brave  captain,  who  was  standing  leaning  against  the 
chimney-piece. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Roquefinette,  in  a  slightly  ironical  tone, 
"it  is  you,  chevalier;  I  expected  you." 

"  You  expected  me,  captain  !  and  what  induced  you  to 
do  so  ?  " 

"Events,  chevalier,  events." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"I  mean  that  you  thought  you  could  make  open  war, 
and  consequently  put  poor  Captain  Roquefinette  aside,  as 
a  bandit,  who  is  good  for  nothing  but  a  nocturnal  blow  at 
a  street  corner,  or  in  a  wood  ;  and  now  Dubois  knows  all  ; 
the  parliament,  on  whom  we  thought  we  might  count, 
have  failed  us,  and  has  said  yes,  instead  of  no.  Now  we 
come  back  to  the  captain.  My  dear  capatin  here  !  my 
good  captain  there  !  Is  not  this  exactly  as  it  has  hap- 
pened, chevalier?  Well,  here  is  the  captain,  what  do  you 
want  of  him?     Speak." 

"Really,  my  dear  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  not 
knowing  exactly  how  to  take  this  speech,  "there  is  some 
truth  in  what  you  say.  Only  you  are  mistaken  if  you 
think  we  had  forgotten  you.  If  our  plan  had  succeeded, 
you  would  have  had  proof  that  my  memory  was  better, 


MAN    PROPOSES.  357 

and  I  should  have  come  to  offer  you  my  credit,  as  I  now 
come  to  ask  your  assistance." 

"Hum  !"  said  the  captain;  "for  the  last  three  days, 
since  T  have  inhabited  this  new  apartment,  I  have  made 
many  reflections  on  the  vanity  of  human  things,  and  have 
more  than  once  felt  inclined  to  retire  altogether  from  these 
affairs,  or  —  if  I  did  undertake  one  —  to  take  care  that  it 
should  be  sufficiently  brilliant  to  insure  my  future." 

"  What  I  come  to  propose  to  you  is  just  the  thing. 
Without  preamble,   it  is  —  " 

"  What?  "  asked  the  captain,  after  waiting  two  or  three 
minutes  in  vain  for  the  end  of  the  speech. 

"  Oh,  captain,  I  thought  —  " 

"  What  did  you  think,  chevalier  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  heard  steps,  —  a  sort  of  creaking  in  the 
wall." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  captain,  "  there  are  not  a  few  rats  in 
this  establishment,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Oh,  that  must  be  it!"  said  D'Harmental.  "Well! 
my  dear  Roquefinette,  we  wish  to  profit  by  the  regent's 
returning  unguarded  from  Chelles  to  carry  him  off  and 
take  him  to  Spain." 

"Before  going  any  further,"  said  Roquefinette,  "I  must 
warn  you  that  this  is  a  new  treaty,  and  that  every  new 
treaty  implies  new  conditions." 

"No  need  of  discussions  on  that  point.  You  shall  fix 
them  yourself;  but  can  you  still  dispose  of  your  men  ?" 

"lean." 

"  Will  they  be  ready  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow  ?  " 

"They  will." 

"That  is  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  Something  else  is  necessary,  —  money  to  buy  a  horse 
and  arms." 

"There  are  a  hundred  louis  in  that  purse;  take  it." 

"It  is  well.     You  shall  have  an  account  of  it." 

"Then  to-morrow  at  my  house  at  two  o'clock." 

"It  is  agreed,  chevalier;  you  are  not  to  be  astonished 
if  I  am  a  little  exacting." 


358  THE  CHEVALIER  I)"  H  AU  MENTAL. 

"You  know  that  last  time  I  only  complained  of  your 
being  too  modest." 

"Very  well,  that  will  do,"  said  the  captain,  "you  are 
easily  satisfied.  Lot  me  light  you;  it  would  be  a  pit}^ 
that  a  brave  fellow  like  j^ou  should  break  his  neck." 

And  the  captain  took  the  candle,  which,  now  burnt 
down  to  the  paper,  threw  a  splendid  light  over  the  stair- 
case. 

D'Harmental  had  not  forgotten  that  Madame  du  Maine 
waited  with  anxiety  for  the  result  of  the  interview.  He 
did  not  trouble  himself,  therefore,  about  what  had  become 
of  La  Fillon,  whom  he  did  not  see  on  leaving;  and  having 
gone  down  the  Rue  des  Feuillons,  he  passed  along  the 
Champs  Elysees,  which,  without  being  altogether  deserted, 
was  nevertheless  almost  solitary.  Having  arrived  at  the 
stone,  he  noticed  a  carriage  standing  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  road,  while  two  men  were  walking  at  a  little  dis- 
tance off  in  the  cross-road.  He  approached  the  carriage; 
a  woman,  seeing  him,  pat  her  head  impatiently  out  of  the 
window.  The  chevalier  recognised  Madame  du  IMaine; 
Malezieux  and  Valef  were  with  her.  As  to  the  walkers, 
who,  seeing  D'Harmental,  approached  the  vehicle,  it  is 
needless  to  say  that  they  were  Brigand  and  Pompadour. 

The  chevalier,  without  naming  Roquefinette,  or  enlar- 
ging on  the  character  of  the  illustrious  captain,  told  them 
in  a  few  words  what  had  passed.  This  recital  was  wel- 
comed by  a  general  exclamation  of  joy.  The  duchess  gave 
D'Harmental  her  hand  to  kiss;  the  men  pressed  his.  It 
was  agreed  that  the  next  day  at  two  o'clock  the  duchess, 
Pompadour,  Laval,  Valef,  Malezieux,  and  Brigand  should 
meet  at  Xo.  15,  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine,  a  house  occupied 
by  D'Avranches'  mother,  and  that  they  should  there  await 
the  event. 

The  result  was  to  be  announced  to  them  by  D'Avranches 
himself,  who  at  three  o'clock  should  be  at  the  Barrière 
du  Trône  with  two  horses,  one  for  himself,  the  other  for 
the  chevalier.     He  was  to  follow  D'Harmental  at  a  dis- 


MAN    PROPOSES.  359 

tance,  and  return  to  announce  what  had  i^assed.  Five 
other  horses,  saddled  and  bridled,  were  to  be  ready  in  the 
stables  of  the  house  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine,  so 
that  the  conspirators  might  fly  at  once  in  case  of  the 
chevalier's  failure. 

These  plans  settled,  tlie  duchess  forced  the  chevalier  to 
seat  himself  beside  her.  The  duchess  wished  to  drive 
him  home,  but  he  told  her  that  the  appearance  of  a  car- 
riage at  Madame  Denis's  door  would  produce  too  much 
sensation,  and  that,  flattering  as  it  would  be  to  him,  it 
would  be  too  dangerous  for  all.  In  consequence,  the 
duchess  set  D'Harmental  down  in  the  Place  des  Victoires, 
after  repeatedly  expressing  her  gratitude  for  his  devotion. 
It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  D'Harmental  had 
scarcely  seen  Bathilde  during  the  day;  he  wished  to  see 
her  again  ;  he  was  sure  to  find  her  at  her  window,  but  that 
was  not  sufficient,  for  what  he  had  to  say  was  too  serious 
to  be  thus  spoken  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  the  street. 

He  was  thinking  under  what  pretext  he  could  present 
himself  at  such  a  late  hour,  when  he  thought  he  saw  a 
woman  at  the  door  of  her  house.  He  advanced  and  recog- 
nised Nanette,  who  was  there  by  Bathilde' s  order.  The 
poor  girl  was  dreadfully  uneasy,  Buvat  not  having 
returned.  All  the  evening  she  had  remained  at  the 
window  to  watch  for  D'Harmental,  but  had  not  seen  him. 
It  seemed  to  Bathilde  that  there  must  be  some  connection 
between  Buvat's  strange  disappearance  and  the  melancholy 
which  she  had  remarked  the  day  before  in  D'Harmental's 
face,  Nanette  was  waiting  at  the  door  for  Buvat  and 
D'Harmental;  she  now  waited  for  Buvat,  and  D'Har- 
mental went  up  to  Bathilde. 

Bathilde  had  heard  and  recognised  his  step,  and  ran  to 
open  the  door.  At  the  first  glance  she  noticed  the  pensive 
expression  of  his  face. 

"Oh!  mon  Dieu,  Raoul!"  she  exclaimed,  "has  any- 
thing happened  to  you?" 

"Bathilde,"  said  D'Harmental,  with  a  melancholy  smile, 


360  THE    CHEVALIER    DIIAUMENTAL. 

"you   have  often  told  me  that  there  is  in  me  something 
mysterious  which  frightens  you."' 

'*  Yes,"  cried  Bathilde;  "it  is  the  only  torment  of  my 
life;  my  only  fear  for  the  future." 

"And  you  are  right;  for  before  1  knew  you,  Bathilde, 
I  had  abandoned  a  part  of  my  free-will;  this  portion  of 
myself  no  longer  belongs  to  me,  but  submits  to  a  supreme 
law,  and  to  unforeseen  events.  It  is  a  black  point  in  a 
clear  sky.  xVccording  to  the  way  the  wind  blows,  it  may 
disappear  as  a  vapour  or  increase  into  a  storm.  The  hand 
Avhich  holds  and  guides  mine  may  lead  me  to  the  high- 
est favour  or  to  the  most  complete  disgrace.  Tell  me, 
Bathilde,  are  you  disposed  to  share  my  good  and  evil 
fortune,  —  the  calm  and  the  tempest  ?  " 

"Everything  with  you,  Raoul." 

"Think  of  what  you  are  undertaking,  Bathilde.  It  may 
be  a  happy  and  a  brilliant  life  which  is  reserved  for  you; 
it  may  be  exile;  it  may  be  captivity;  it  ma}-  be  that  3'ou 
will  be  a  widow  before  you  are  a  wife." 

Bathilde  turned  so  pale  that  Raoul  thought  she  would 
fall;  but  she  quickly  regained  her  self-command,  and, 
holding  out  her  hand  to  D'Harmental,  — 

"  Raoul,  "  said  she,  "  have  I  not  already  told  you  that  I 
love  you;  that  I  never  have  and  never  can  love  any  other? 
It  seems  to  me  that  all  these  promises  you  ask  are  in- 
cluded in  those  words;  but  since  you  wish  them  renewed, 
I  do  so.  Your  life  shall  be  my  life,  and  your  death  my 
death;  both  are  in  the  hands  of  God." 

"And  I,  Bathilde,"  said  D'Harmental,  leading  her 
before  the  crucifix,  "I  swear  that  from  this  moment  you 
are  my  wife  before  God  and  before  men;  and  since  the 
events  which  may  dispose  of  my  life  leave  me  nothing  but 
my  love  to  offer  to  you,  that  love  is  yours,  —  profound, 
unalterable,  eternal;"  and  the  young  people  exchanged 
their  first  kiss  with  the  renewal  of  their  vows. 

When  D'Harmental  left  Bathilde  Buvat  had  not 
returned. 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH.  361 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

DAVID    AND    GOLIATH. 

Towards  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  Abbé  Brigand 
entered  D'Harmental's  room;  he  brought  him  twenty 
thousand  francs,  partly  in  gohl,  partly  in  Spanish  paper. 
The  duchess  had  passed  the  night  at  the  Comtesse  de 
Chavigny's,  in  the  Kue  du  Mail.  The  plans  of  the  pre- 
ceding day  were  in  no  degree  changed,  and  they  had  ascer- 
tained that  the  regent  would  pay  his  accustomed  visit  to 
Chelles.  At  ten  o'clock  Brigand  and  D'Harmental  went 
down,  Brigand  to  join  Pompadour  and  Valef  on  the  Boule- 
vard du  Temple,  and  D'Harmental  to  visit  Bathilde. 

Uneasiness  was  at  its  height  in  the  little  household; 
Buvat  was  still  absent,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  by  Ba- 
thilde's  eyes  that  she  had  had  but  little  sleep.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  D'Harmental  she  understood  that  some  expedition 
was  preparing.  D'Harmental  again  wore  that  dark  cos- 
tume in  which  she  had  never  seen  him  but  on  that  evening 
when,  on  returning,  he  had  thrown  his  mantle  on  a  chair, 
and  displayed  to  her  sight  the  pistols  in  his  belt.  More- 
over, she  saw  by  his  spurs  that  he  expected  to  ride  during 
the  day.  All  these  things  would  have  appeared  insignifi- 
cant at  any  other  time,  but  after  the  nocturnal  betrothal 
we  have  described  they  took  a  new  and  grave  importance. 
Bathilde  tried  at  first  to  make  the  chevalier  speak,  but 
he  told  her  that  the  secret  she  asked  did  not  belong  to 
himself,  and  she  desisted.  An  hour  after  Nanette  ap- 
peared with  a  distressed  face.  She  came  from  the 
library;  Buvat  had  not  been  there,  and  no  one  had  heard 
anything  of  him. 

Bathilde  could  contain  herself  no  longer;    she  fell  into 


362  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

Raoul's  arms  and  Inirst  into  tears.  Then  Raoul  oonfesserl 
to  her  his  fears,  and  tliat  the  papers  which  the  pretended 
Prince  de  Listhnay  had  given  Buvat  to  copy  were  politi- 
cally important,  by  which  lie  might  have  been  compro- 
mised and  arrested,  but  had  nothing  to  fear,  and  that  the 
passive  part  which  he  had  played  in  this  affair  did  not 
endanger  him  in  the  least. 

Bathilde,  having  feared  some  much  greater  misfortune, 
eagerly  seized  on  this  idea.  She  did  not  confess  to  herself 
that  the  greater  part  of  lier  uneasiness  was  not  for  Buvat, 
and  that  all  the  tears  she  shed  were  not  for  the  absent. 

When  D'Harmental  was  near  Ba.thilde  time  appeared 
to  fly;  he  was  astonished  when  he  found  that  he  had  been 
with  her  an  hour  and  a  half,  and,  remembering  that  at  two 
o'clock  he  had  to  arrange  his  new  treaty  with  Koqueiinette, 
he  rose  to  go.  Bathilde  turned  pale.  D'Harmental,  to 
reassure  her,  promised  to  come  to  her  again  after  tbe 
departure  of  the  person  he  expected. 

The  chevalier  had  only  been  a  few  minutes  at  his 
window  when  he  saw  Roquefinette  appear  at  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  Montmartre.  He  was  mounted  on  a  dapple-gray 
horse,  both  swift  and  strong,  and  evidently  chosen  by  a 
connoisseur.  He  came  along  leisurely,  like  a  man  to 
whom  it  is  equally  indiffereuc  whether  he  is  seen  or  not. 
On  arriving  at  the  door  he  dismounted,  fastened  up  his 
horse,  and  ascended  the  stairs.  As  on  the  day  before,  his 
face  was  grave  and  pensive,  his  compressed  lips  indicated 
some  fixed  determination,  and  D'Harmental  received  him 
with  a  smile,  which  met  with  no  answer  on  the  captain's 
face. 

D'Harmental  at  a  glance  took  in  all  these  different 
signs. 

"Well,  captain,"  said  he,  "T  see  that  you  are  still 
punctuality  itself." 

"It  is  a  military  habit,  chevalier,  and  is  not  astonishing 
in  an  old  soldier." 

"  I  did  not  doubt  you,  but  you  might  not  have  been  able 
to  meet  your  men." 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH.  363 

"I  told  you  I  knew  where  to  find  them." 

"And  where  are  they?" 

"In  the  horse-market  at  the  Porte  Saint  Martin." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  they  will  be  noticed?  " 

"  How  should  twelve  or  fifteen  men  dressed  as  peasants 
be  noticed  among  three  hundred  other  peasants  buying  and 
selling  horses?  It  is  like  a  needle  in  a  bottle  of  hay, 
which  none  but  myself  can  find." 

"But  how  can  these  men  accompany  you,  captain?" 

"The  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  Each  one  has 
bargained  for  the  horse  which  suits  him.  Each  one  has 
offered  a  price,  to  which  the  vendor  replies  by  another.  I 
arrive,  give  to  each  tweuty-five  or  thirty  louis.  Every  one 
pays  for  his  horse,  has  it  saddled,  mounts,  slips  into  the 
holsters  the  pistols  which  he  has  in  his  belt,  and,  by  a 
different  route,  arrives  at  a  given  place  in  the  Bois  de 
Vincennes  at  four  o'clock.  Then  only  I  explain  to  them 
for  what  they  are  wanted.  I  again  distribute  money,  put 
myself  at  the  head  of  my  squadron,  and  go  to  the  work  — 
supposing  that  you  and  I  agree  on  the  conditions." 

"Well,  these  conditions,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental, 
"  let  us  discuss  them,  and  I  think  I  have  arranged  so  that 
you  will  be  satisfied  with  what  I  have  to  offer  you." 

"Let  us  hear  them,"  said  Roquefinette,  sitting  down  by 
the  table. 

"First,  double  the  sum  you  received  last  time,"  said  the 
chevalier. 

"Ah  !  "  said  Roquefinette,  "1  do  not  care  for  money." 

"What!  you  do  not  care  for  money,  captain?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"What  do  you  care  for,  then?" 

"A  position." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean,  chevalier,  that  every  day  I  am  four  and 
twenty  hours  older,  and  that  with  age  comes  philosophy." 

"Well,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  beginning  to  be  seri- 
ously uneasy,  "  what  is  the  ambition  of  your  philosophy  ?  " 


364  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

"  I  have  told  you,  chevalier.  A  position  suitable  to  my 
long  services,  —  not  in  France,  you  understand.  In  France 
I  have  too  many  enemies,  beginning  with  the  lieutenant 
of  police;  but  in  Spain,  for  instance.  Ah!  that  would 
suit  me  well.  A  fine  country  — beautiful  women  —  plenty 
of  doubloons!     Decidedly,  I  should  like  a  rank  in  Spain." 

"The  thing  is  possible;  it  depends  on  the  rank  you 
desire." 

"  Well,  you  know,  chevalier,  when  one  is  wishing,  it  is 
as  well  to  wish  for  sometliing  worth  the  trouble." 

"You  make  me  uneasy,  monsieur,"  said  D'Harmental, 
"for  I  have  not  the  seals  of  King  Philip  to  sign  brevets 
in  his  name.     But  never  mind;  speak." 

"Well,"  said  Roquefinette,  "I  see  so  many  greenhorns 
at  the  heads  of  regiments,  that  I  also  have  thought  of 
being  a  colonel." 

"Colonel?    Impossible  !  " 

"Why  so?" 

"Because,  if  they  make  you  a  colonel,  you  who  only 
hold  a  secondary  position  in  the  affair,  what  am  I  to  ask, 
I,  who  am  at  the  head?" 

"That  is  the  very  thing;  I  wish  to  change  positions  for 
the  moment.  You  remember  what  I  said  to  you  on  a 
certain  evening  in  the  Rue  du  Valois?" 

"Aid  my  memory,  captain.  I  have  unfortunately  for- 
gotten." 

"  I  told  you  that  if  I  had  an  affair  like  this  to  manage, 
things  would  go  better.  I  added  that  I  would  speak  to 
you  of  it  again.    I  do  so  now." 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about,  captain  ?  " 

"A  simple  matter,  chevalier.  We  made  a  first  attempt 
together,  which  failed.  Then  you  changed  batteries  :  you 
thought  you  could  do  without  me,  and  you  failed  again. 
The  first  time  you  failed  at  night,  and  without  noise:  we 
each  went  our  own  way,  and  there  was  nothing  known 
about  it.  The  second  time,  on  the  contrary,  you  failed 
in  broad  daylight,  and  with  an  éclat  which  has   compro- 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH.  365 

mised  all;  so  that  if  you  do  not  save  yourselves  by  a  bold 
stroke,  you  are  all  lost,  as  Dubois  has  your  names;  and 
to-morrow  —  to-night  perhaps — you  may  be  all  arrested, 
knights,  barons,  dukes,  and  princes.  Xow  there  is  in  the 
world  one  man,  and  one  only,  who  can  free  you  from 
your  troubles  :  that  man  is  Captain  Roquefinette,  and  you 
offer  him  the  same  place  he  held  before  !  Fie,  chevalier  ! 
—  you  wish  to  bargain  with  him.  Remember,  pretensions 
increase  with  the  services  to  be  rendered.  I  am  now  an 
important  personage.  Treat  me  as  such,  or  I  put  my 
hands  in  my  pockets,  and  leave  Dubois  to  do  as  he  likes." 

D'Harmental  bit  his  lips,  but  he  understood  that  he  had 
to  treat  with  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  sell  his  ser- 
vices as  dear  as  possible;  and  as  what  the  captain  said 
of  their  necessity  was  literally  true,  he  restrained  his 
impatience  and  his  pride. 

"  Then  you  wish  to  be  a  colonel  ?  " 

"That  is  my  idea." 

*'  But  suppose  I  make  you  this  promise,  who  can  answer 
that  I  have  influence  enough  to  ratify  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  chevalier,  I  reckon  on  managing  my  little  affairs 
myself," 

"  Where  ?  " 

"At  Madrid." 

"  Who  told  you  that  I  shall  take  you  there  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  if  you  will  take  me  there,  but  I  know 
that  I  shall  go  there." 

"  You,  to  Madrid  !     What  for  ?  " 

"To  take  the  regent." 

"You  are  mad." 

"Come,  come,  chevalier,  no  big  words.  You  ask  my 
conditions  ;  I  tell  them  you.  They  do  not  suit  you  ;  good 
evening.     We  are  not  the  worse  friends  for  that." 

And  Roquefinette  rose,  took  his  hat,  and  was  going 
towards  the  door. 

"  What,  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Certainly." 


366  TUE    ClIIiVALIEK   D'HARMENTAL. 

"But  you  forget,  captain." 

"Ah!  it  is  true,"  said  Roquefinette,  intentionally  mis- 
taking D'Harmental's  meaning;  "you  gave  me  a  hundred 
louis;  I  must  give  you  an  account  of  them." 

He  took  his  purse  from  his  pocket. 

"A  horse,  thirty  louis;  a  pair  of  double-barrelled 
pistols,  ten  louis;  a  saddle,  bridle,  etc.,  two  louis;  total, 
forty -two  louis.  There  are  fifty-eight  louis  in  this  purse; 
the  horse,  pistols,  saddle,  and  bridle,  are  yours.  Count, 
we  are  quits." 

And  he  threw  the  purse  on  the  table. 

"But  that  is  not  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  captain." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"That  it  is  impossible  to  confide  to  you  a  mission  of 
juch  importance." 

"  It  must  be  so,  nevertheless,  or  not  at  all.  I  must  take 
the  regent  to  Madrid,  and  I  alone,  or  he  remains  at  the 
Palais  Royal." 

"  And  you  think  yourself  worthy  to  take  from  the  hands 
of  Philippe  d'Orléans  the  sword  which  conquered  at 
Lérida  la  Pucelle,  and  which  rested  by  the  sceptre  of 
Louis  XIV.,  on  the  velvet  cushion  with  the  golden 
tassels  ? " 

"I  heard  in  Italy  that  Francis  I.,  at  the  battle  of  Pavia, 
gave  up  his  to  a  butcher." 

And  the  captain  pressed  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  once 
more  approached  the  door. 

"Listen,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  in  his  most  con- 
ciliating tone  ;  "  a  truce  to  arguments  and  quotations  ;  let 
us  split  the  difference.  I  will  conduct  the  regent  to 
Spain,  and  you  shall  accompany  me." 

"  Yes,  so  that  the  poor  captain  may  be  lost  in  the  dust 
which  the  dashing  chevalier  excites,  and  that  the  brilliant 
colonel  may  throw  the  old  bandit  into  the  shade  !  Impos- 
sible, chevalier,  impossible  !  I  will  have  the  management 
of  the  affair,  or  1  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"But  this  is  treason  !  "  cried  D'Harmental. 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH.  367 

"  Treason,  chevalier  !  And  where  have  you  seen,  if  you 
please,  that  Captain  Roquefinette  was  a  traitor?  Where 
are  the  agreements  which  I  have  made  and  not  kept  ? 
Where  are  the  secrets  which  I  have  divulged?  1  a 
traitor  !  Good  heavens,  chevalier,  it  was  only  the  day 
before  yesterday  that  I  was  offered  gold  to  betray  you, 
and  I  refused  !  No,  no  !  Yesterday  you  came  and  asked 
me  to  aid  you  a  second  time.  I  told  you  that  I  was  ready, 
but  on  new  conditions.  Well,  I  have  just  told  you  those 
conditions.  Accept  them  or  refuse  them.  Where  do  you 
see  treason  in  all  this  ?  " 

"  And  if  I  was  weak  enough  to  accept  these  conditions, 
monsieur,  do  you  imagine  that  the  confidence  which  her 
Eoyal  Highness  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  reposes  in  the 
Chevalier  d'Harmental  can  be  transferred  to  Captain 
Roquefinette  ?  " 

"  And  what  has  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  to  remark  upon 
in  this  ?  You  undertake  a  piece  of  business.  There  are 
material  hindrances  in  the  way  of  your  executing  it  your- 
self.    You  hand  it  over  to  me.     That  is  all." 

"That  is  to  say,"  answered  D'Harmental,  shaking  his 
head,  "  that  you  wish  to  be  free  to  loose  the  regent,  if  the 
regent  offers  you,  for  leaving  him  in  France,  twice  as 
much  as  I  offer  you  for  taking  him  to  Spain." 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Roquefinette. 

"Hearken,  captain,"  said  D'Harmental,  making  a  new 
effort  to  retain  his  sang-froid,  and  endeavouring  to  renew 
the  negotiations,  "  I  will  give  you  twenty  thousand  francs 
down." 

"Trash,"  answered  the  captain. 

"I  will  take  you  with  me  to  Spain." 

"Fiddlesticks." 

"And  I  engage  on  my  honour  to  obtain  you  a  regiment." 

Roquefinette  began  to  hum  a  tune. 

"Take  care,"  said  D'Harmental;  "it  is  more  dangerous 
for  you  now,  at  the  point  at  which  we  have  arrived,  and 
with  the  terrible  secrets  which  you  know,  to  refuse  than 
to  accept." 


368  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"And  what  will  happen,  then,  if  I  refuse?"  asked 
Roquefinette. 

"It  will  happen,  captain,  that  you  will  not  leave  this 
room." 

"And  who  will  prevent  me?" 

"I!"  cried  D'Harmental,  bounding  before  the  door,  a 
pistol  in  each  hand. 

"You?"  said  Roquefinette,  making  a  step  towards  the 
chevalier,  and  then  crossing  his  arms  and  regarding  him 
fixedly. 

"One  step  more,  captain,"  said  the  chevalier,  "and  I 
give  you  my  word  I  will  blow  your  brains  out." 

"  You  blow  my  brains  out,  —  you  !  In  the  first  place,  it 
is  necessary  for  that  that  you  should  not  tremble  like  an 
old  woman.  Do  you  know  what  you  will  do  ?  You  will 
miss  me;  the  noise  will  alarm  the  neighbours,  who  will 
call  the  guard,  and  they  will  question  me  as  to  the  reasons 
of  your  shooting  at  me,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  tell 
them." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  captain,"  cried  the  chevalier, 
uncocking  his  pistols,  and  replacing  them  in  his  belt, 
"and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  kill  you  more  honourably  than 
you  deserve.     Draw,  monsieur,  draw." 

And  D'Harmental,  leaning  his  left  foot  against  the 
door,  drew  his  sword  and  placed  himself  on  guard.  It 
was  a  court  sword,  a  thin  ribbon  of  steel  set  in  a  gold 
handle.     Roquefinette  began  to  laugh. 

"With  what  shall  I  defend  myself,  chevalier?  Do  you 
happen  to  have  one  of  your  mistress's  knitting  needles 
here?  " 

" Defend  yourself  with  your  own  sword,  monsieur;  long 
as  it  is,  you  see  that  I  am  placed  so  that  I  cannot  make  a 
step  to  avoid  it." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  dear?"  said  the 
captain,  addressing  his  blade. 

"It  thinks  that  you  are  a  coward,  captain,"  cried 
D'Harmental,  "since  it  is  necessary  to  strike  you  in  the 


DAVID    AND    GOLIATH.  369 

face  to  make  you  fight."  And  with  a  movement  as  quick 
as  lightning,  D'Harmental  cut  the  captain  across  the  face 
with  his  rapier,  leaving  on  the  cheek  a  long  blue  mark 
like  the  mark  of  a  whip. 

Roquefinette  gave  a  cry  which  might  have  been  taken 
for  the  roaring  of  a  lion,  and,  bounding  back  a  step,  threw 
himself  on  guard,  his  sword  in  his  hand.  Then  began 
between  these  two  men  a  duel,  terrible,  hidden,  silent,  for 
both  were  intent  on  their  work,  and  each  understood  what 
sort  of  an  adversary  he  had  to  contend  with.  By  a  reac- 
tion very  easy  to  be  understood,  it  was  now  D'Harmental 
who  was  calm,  and  Roquefinette  who  was  excited.  Every 
instant  he  menaced  D'Harmental  with  his  long  sword,  but 
the  frail  rapier  followed  it  as  iron  follows  the  loadstone, 
twisting  and  spinning  round  it  like  a  viper.  At  the  end 
of  about  five  minutes  the  chevalier  had  not  made  a  single 
lunge,  but  he  had  parried  all  those  of  his  adversary.  At 
last,  on  a  more  rapid  thrust  than  the  others,  he  came  too 
late  to  the  parry,  and  felt  the  point  of  his  adversary's 
sword  at  his  breast.  At  the  same  time  a  red  spot  spread 
from  his  shirt  to  his  lace  frill.  D'Harmental  saw  it,  and 
with  a  spring  engaged  so  near  to  Roquefinette  that  the 
hilts  almost  touched.  The  captain  instantly  saw  the  dis- 
advantage of  his  long  sword  in  such  a  position.  A  thrust 
sur  les  armes,  and  he  was  lost;  he  made  a  spring  back- 
wards, his  foot  slipped  on  the  newly  waxed  floor,  and  his 
sword-hand  rose  in  spite  of  himself.  Almost  by  instinct 
D'Harmental  profited  by  it,  lunged  within,  and  pierced 
the  captain's  chest,  where  the  blade  disappeared  to  the 
hilt.  D'Harmental  recovered  to  parry  in  return,  but  the 
precaution  was  needless  ;  the  captain  stood  still  an  instant, 
opened  his  eyes  wildly,  the  sword  dropped  from  his  grasp, 
and,  pressing  his  two  hands  to  the  wound,  he  fell  at  full 
length  on  the  floor. 

"  Curse  the  rapier  !  "  murmured  he,  and  expired  ;  the 
strip  of  steel  had  pierced  his  heart. 

Still  D'Harmental   remained  on  guard,  with   his   eyes 

24 


370  ÏIIE    ClIEVALlKlt    D'ilAKMENTAL. 

fixed  ou  the  captain,  only  lowv'i-iiig  liis  sword  as  the  dead 
man  let  his  slip.  Finally,  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  corpse,  but  this  corpse  had  its  eyes  open,  and 
continued  to  look  at  him.  Leaning  against  the  door,  the 
chevalier  remained  an  instant  thunderstruck;  his  hair 
bristled,  his  forehead  became  covered  with  perspiration, 
he  did  not  dare  to  move,  he  did  not  dare  to  speak,  his 
victory  seemed  to  him  a  dream.  Suddenly  the  mouth  of 
the  dying  man  set  in  a  last  convulsion,  — the  partisan  was 
dead,  and  his  secret  had  died  with  him. 

How  to  recognise,  in  the  midst  of  three  hundred  peas- 
ants, buying  and  selling  horses,  the  twelve  or  fifteen  pre- 
tended ones  who  were  to  carry  off  the  regent? 

D'Harmental  gave  a  low  cry;  he  would  have  given  ten 
years  of  his  own  life  to  add  ten  minutes  to  that  of  the 
captain.  He  took  the  body  in  his  arms,  raised  it,  called 
it,  and,  seeing  his  reddened  hands,  let  it  fall  into  a  sea  of 
blood,  which,  following  the  inclination  of  the  boards  down 
a  channel  in  the  floor,  reached  the  door,  and  began  to 
spread  over  the  threshold. 

At  that  moment  the  horse,  which  was  tied  to  the  shut- 
ter, neighed  violently. 

D'Harmental  made  three  steps  towards  the  door,  then 
he  remembered  that  Koqueiinette  might  have  some  memo- 
randum about  him  which  might  serve  as  a  guide.  In  spite 
of  his  repugnance,  he  searched  the  pockets  of  the  corpse, 
one  after  another,  but  the  only  papers  he  found  were  two 
or  three  old  bills  of  restaurateurs,  and  a  love-letter  from 
La  Normande. 

Then,  as  he  had  nothing  more  to  do  in  that  room,  he 
filled  his  pockets  with  gold  and  notes,  closed  the  door 
after  him,  descended  the  stairs  rapidly,  left  at  a  gallop 
towards  the  Rue  Gros  Chenet,  and  disappeared  round  the 
angle  nearest  to  the  Boulevard. 


Death  of  Roqulfinette. 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  371 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

THE    SAVIOUR    OF    FRANCE. 

While  these  terrible  events  were  going  forward  in  the 
attic  of  Madame  Denis's  house,  Bathilde,  uneasy  at  seeing 
her  neighbour's  window  so  long  shut,  had  opened  hers, 
and  the  first  thing  she  saw  was  the  dapple-gray  horse 
attached  to  the  shutter;  but  as  she  had  not  seen  the 
captain  go  in,  she  thought  that  the  steed  was  for  Raoul, 
and  that  reflection  immediately  recalled  both  her  former 
and  present  fears. 

Bathilde  consequently  remained  at  the  window,  looking 
on  all  sides,  and  trying  to  read  in  the  physiognomy  of 
every  passer-by  whether  that  individual  was  an  actor  in 
the  mysterious  drama  which  was  preparing,  and  in  which 
she  instinctively  understood  that  Raoul  was  to  pHy  the 
chief  part.  She  remained,  then,  with  a  beating  heart, 
her  neck  stretched  out  and  her  eyes  wandering  hither  and 
thither,  when  all  at  once  her  unquiet  glances  concentrated 
on  a  point.  The  young  girl  gave  a  cry  of  joy,  for  she  saw 
Buvat  coming  round  the  corner  from  the  Rue  Montmartre. 
Indeed,  it  was  the  worthy  caligraphist  in  person,  who, 
looking  behind  him  from  time  to  time,  as  if  he  feared 
pursuit,  advanced  with  his  cane  horizontal,  and  at  as 
swift  a  run  as  his  little  legs  permitted. 

While  he  enters  and  embraces  his  ward,  let  us  look 
back  and  relate  the  causes  of  that  absence,  which  doubt- 
less caused  as  much  uneasiness  to  our  readers  as  to  Nanette 
and  Bathilde. 

It  will  be  remembered  how  Buvat  —  driven  by  fear  of 
torture  to  the  revelation  of  the  conspiracy  —  had  been 
forced  by  Dubois  to  make  every  day,  at  his  house,  a  copy 


372  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

of  the  documents  which  tlie  pretended  Prince  de  Listhnay 
had  given  him.  It  was  thus  that  the  minister  of  the 
regent  had  successively  learned  all  the  projects  of  the 
conspirators,  which  he  had  defeated  by  the  arrest  of 
Marshal  Villeroy,  and  by  the  convocation  of  parliament. 
Buvat  had  been  at  work  as  usual,  but  about  four  o'clock, 
as  he  rose  and  took  his  hat  in  one  hand  and  his  cane  in 
the  other,  Dubois  came  in  and  took  him  into  a  little  room 
above  that  where  he  had  been  working,  and,  having  arrived 
there,  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  the  apartment. 
Flattered  by  this  deference  of  the  prime  minister's  to  his 
judgment,  Buvat  hastened  to  reply  that  he  thought  it  very 
agreeable. 

"So  much  the  better,"  answered  Dubois,  "and  I  am  very 
glad  that  it  is  to  your  taste,  for  it  is  yours." 

"Mine!"  cried  Buvat,  astonished. 

"Certainly;  is  it  astonishing  that  I  should  wish  to 
have  under  my  hand,  or  rather  under  my  eyes,  a  personage 
as  important  as  yourself  ?  " 

"But,"  asked  Buvat,  "am  I  then  going  to  live  in  the 
Palais  Royal?" 

"For  some  days  at  least,"  answered  Dubois. 

"Monseigneur,  let  me  at  all  events  inform  Bathilde." 

"That  is  just  the  thing.  Bathilde  must  not  be  in- 
formed." 

"  But  you  will  permit  that  the  first  time  I  go  out  —  " 

"As  long  as  you  remain  here  you  will  not  go  out." 

"But,"  cried  Buvat,  with  terror,  "but  I  am  then  a 
prisoner?" 

"A  State  prisoner,  as  you  have  said,  my  dear  Buvat: 
but  calm  yourself;  your  captivity  will  not  be  long,  and 
while  it  lasts  we  will  take  of  you  all  the  care  which  is  the 
due  of  the  saviour  of  France,  for  you  have  saved  France, 
Monsieur  Buvat." 

"I  have  saved  France,  and  here  I  am  a  prisoner  under 
bolts  and  bars  !  " 

"  And  where  on  earth  do  you  see  bolts  and  bars,  my  dear 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  373 

Buvat?"  said  Dubois,  laughing;  "the  door  shuts  with  a 
latch,  and  has  not  even  a  lock;  as  to  the  window,  yours 
looks  on  the  gardens  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and  has  not  even 
a  lattice  to  intercept  the  view,  a  superb  view.  You  are 
lodged  here  like  the  regent  himself." 

"  Oh,  my  little  room  !  Oh,  my  terrace  !  "  cried  Buvat, 
letting  himself  sink  exhausted  on  a  seat. 

Dubois,  who  had  no  other  consolation  to  bestow  upon 
Buvat,  went  out,  and  placed  a  sentinel  at  the  door.  The 
explanation  of  this  step  is  easy.  Dubois  feared  that,  see- 
ing the  arrest  of  Villeroy,  they  would  suspect  from  whom 
the  information  came,  and  would  question  Buvat,  and  that 
he  would  confess  all.  This  confession  would,  doubtless, 
have  arrested  the  conspirators  in  the  midst  of  their 
schemes,  which,  on  the  contrary,  Dubois,  informed  before- 
hand of  all  their  plans,  wished  to  see  carried  to  a  point, 
so  that  in  crushing  one  monster  rebellion  he  might  put  an 
end  to  all  lesser  ones. 

Towards  eight  o'clock,  as  daylight  began  to  fade,  Buvat 
heard  a  great  noise  at  his  door,  and  a  sort  of  metallic 
clashing,  which  did  not  tend  to  reassure  him.  He  had 
heard  plenty  of  lamentable  stories  of  State  prisoners  who 
had  been  assassinated  in  their  prisons,  and  he  rose  trem- 
bling and  ran  to  the  window.  The  court  and  gardens  of 
the  Palais  Royal  were  full  of  people,  the  galleries  began 
to  be  lighted  up,  the  whole  scene  was  full  of  gaiety  and 
light.  He  heaved  a  profound  sigh,  thinking  perhaps  that 
he  might  be  bidding  a  last  adieu  to  that  life  and  anima- 
tion. At  that  instant  the  door  was  opened;  Buvat  turned 
round  shuddering,  and  saw  two  tall  footmen  in  red  livery 
bringing  in  a  well-supplied  table.  The  metallic  noise 
which  had  so  much  disturbed  him  had  been  the  clattering 
of  the  silver  plates  and  dishes. 

Buvat's  first  impression  was  one  of  thankfulness  to 
Heaven  that  so  imminent  a  danger  as  that  which  he  had 
feared  had  changed  into  such  a  satisfactory  event.  But 
immediately  the  idea  struck  him  that  the  deadly  inten- 


.'■.74  THE    CHEVALÎEU   D'IIAIÎMENTAL. 

tiens  held  towards  him  were  still  the  same,  and  that  onlj 
tlie  mode  of  their  execution  was  changed  —  instead  of 
being  assassinated,  like  Jean-sans-Fenr,  or  the  Due  de 
Guise,  he  was  going  to  be  poisoned,  like  the  Dauphin,  or 
the  Due  de  Burgundy.  He  threw  a  rapid  glance  on  the 
two  footmen,  and  thought  he  remarked  something  sombre 
which  denoted  the  agents  of  a  secret  vengeance.  From 
this  instant  his  determination  was  taken,  and,  in  spite  of 
the  scent  of  the  dishes,  which  appeared  to  him  an  addi- 
tional proof,  he  refused  all  sustenance,  saying  majestically 
that  he  was  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty. 

The  footmen  looked  at  each  other  knowingly.  They 
were  two  sharp  fellows,  and  had  understood  Buvat's  char- 
acter at  a  glance,  and  not  understanding  a  man  not  being 
hungry  when  before  a  pheasant  stuffed  with  truffles,  or  not 
thirsty  before  a  bottle  of  Chambertin,  had  penetrated  the 
prisoner's  fears  pretty  quickly.  They  exchanged  a  few 
words  in  a  low  tone,  and  the  boldest  of  the  two,  seeing 
that  there  was  a  means  of  drawing  some  profit  from  the 
circumstances,  advanced  towards  Buvat,  who  recoiled 
before  him  as  far  as  the  room  would  allow. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  in  a  reassuring  tone,  "we  under- 
stand your  fears,  and,  as  we  are  honest  servants,  we  will 
show  you  that  we  are  incapable  of  lending  ourselves  to 
the  dealings  which  you  suspect;  consequently,  during  the 
whole  time  that  you  remain  here,  my  comrade  and  I,  each 
in  our  turn,  will  taste  all  the  dishes  which  are  brought 
you,  and  all  the  wines  which  are  sent  in,  happy  if  by  our 
devotion  we  can  restore  your  tranquillity." 

"Monsieur,"  answered  Buvat,  ashamed  that  his  secret 
sentiments  had  been  discovered  thus,  "monsieur,  you  are 
very  polite,  but  in  truth  I  am  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty." 

"Never  mind,  monsieur,"  said  the  man,  "as  my  comrade 
and  myself  desire  not  to  leave  the  smallest  doubt  on  your 
mind,  we  will  execute  what  we  have  offered.  Comtois, 
my  friend,"  continued  the  fellow,  sitting  down  in  the 
place  which  had  been  intended  for  Buvat,  "do  me  the 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  375 

favour  to  help  me  to  a  little  of  that  soup,  a  wing  of  that 
pullet  in  rice,  a  glass  of  that  Chambertin,  there  —  to  your 
health,  monsieur." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Buvat,  opening  his  eyes  and  looking 
at  the  footman  who  was  dining  so  impudently  in  his  stead, 
"monsieur,  it  is  I  who  am  your  servant,  and  I  should  wish 
to  know  your  name  in  order  to  preserve  it  in  my  memory 
by  the  side  of  that  of  the  good  jailer  who  gave  to  Comte 
l'Ancien  a  similar  proof  of  devotion  to  that  which  you 
give  me." 

"Monsieur,"  answered  the  footman,  modestly,  "I  am 
called  Bourguignon,  and  here  is  my  cojnrade  Comtois, 
whose  turn  for  devotion  will  come  to-morrow,  and  who, 
when  the  moment  shall  have  arrived,  will  not  be  behind- 
hand. Comtois,  my  friend,  a  slice  of  that  pheasant,  and 
a  glass  of  champagne.  Do  you  not  see  that,  in  order  to 
reassure  monsieur  completely,  1  must  taste  everything;  it 
is  a  severe  test,  I  know,  but  where  would  be  the  merit  of 
being  an  honest  man  if  it  did  not  sometimes  bring  trials 
like  the  present?     To  your  health.  Monsieur  Buvat." 

"Heaven  preserve  yours.  Monsieur  Bourguignon." 

"Now,  Comtois,  hand  me  the  dessert,  so  that  I  may 
leave  no  doubt  on  Monsieur  Buvat's  mind." 

"Monsieur  Bourguignon,  I  beg  you  to  believe  that,  if  I 
had  any,  they  are  completely  dissipated." 

"No,  monsieur,  no,  I  beg  your  pardon;  you  still  have 
some.  Comtois,  my  friend,  now  the  hot  coffee,  very  hot; 
I  wish  to  drink  it  exactly  as  monsieur  would  have  done, 
and  I  presume  it  is  thus  that  monsieur  likes  it." 

"Boiling,  monsieur,  boiling,"  answered  Buvat,  bowing. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Bourguignon,  sipping  his  coffee,  and  rais- 
ing his  eyes  blissfully  to  the  ceiling,  "you  are  right, 
monsieur.  It  is  only  so  that  coffee  is  good,  —  half-cold  it 
is  a  very  second-rate  beverage.  This,  I  may  say,  is  excel- 
lent. Comtois,  my  friend,  receive  my  compliments,  you 
wait  admirably;  now  help  me  to  take  away  the  table. 
You  ought  to  know  that  there  is  nothing  more  unpleasant 


376  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

than  the  smell  of  wines  and  viands  to  those  who  are  not 
hungry  nor  thirsty.  Monsieur,"  continued  Bourguignon, 
stepping  towards  the  door,  which  he  had  carefully  shut 
during  the  repast,  and  which  he  opened  while  his  com- 
panion pushed  the  table  before  him,  ''monsieur,  if  you 
have  need  of  anything,  you  have  three  bells,  one  at  the 
head  of  your  bed  and  two  at  the  mantel-piece.  Those  at 
the  fireplace  are  for  us,  that  at  the  bed  for  your  valet 
de  chamhrey 

"Thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  Buvat,  "you  are  too  good. 
I  do  not  wish  to  disturb  any  one." 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that,  monsieur, — mon- 
seigneur desires  that  you  should  make  yourself  at  home." 

"Monseigneur  is  very  polite." 

"Does  monsieur  require  anything  else  ?" 

"Nothing  more,  my  friend,  nothing  more,"  said  Buvat, 
touched  by  so  much  devotion  \  "  nothing,  except  to  express 
my  gratitude." 

"I  have  only  done  my  duty,  monsieur,"  answered  Bour- 
guignon, modestly,  bowing  for  the  last  time,  and  shutting 
the  door. 

^^  Ma  foi!"  said  Buvat,  following  Bourguignon  with  his 
eyes,  "  it  must  be  allowed  that  some  proverbs  are  great 
liars.  One  says,  'As  insolent  as  a  lackey,'  and  yet  here 
is  an  individual  practising  that  calling,  who  nevertheless 
could  not  possibly  be  more  polite.  I  shall  never  believe 
in  proverbs  again,  or,  rather,  I  shall  make  a  difference 
between  them." 

And  making  himself  this  promise,  Buvat  found  himself 
alone. 

Nothing  makes  a  man  so  hungry  as  the  sight  of  a  good 
dinner;  that  which  had  just  been  eaten  under  the  good 
man's  very  eyes  surpassed  in  luxury  everything  that  he 
had  ever  dreamed  of,  and  he  began  —  influenced  by  the 
decided  calls  of  his  stomach  —  to  reproach  himself  for  his 
too  great  distrust  of  his  persecutors;  but  it  was  too  late. 
Buvat,  it  is  true,  might  have   rung   for   Monsieur   Bour- 


THE    SAVIOUR    OF   FRANCE.  377 

guignoD,  and  requested  a  second  dinner,  but  he  was  of  too 
timid  a  character  for  that,  and  the  result  was  that  he  had 
to  search  amongst  his  stock  of  proverbs  for  the  most  con- 
soling, and  having  found,  between  his  situation  and  the 
proverb,  "He  who  sleeps  dines,"  an  analogy  which  seemed 
to  him  most  direct,  he  resolved  to  make  use  of  it,  and,  as 
he  could  not  dine,  to  endeavour  at  least  to  sleep. 

But,  at  the  moment  of  taking  this  resolution,  Buvat 
found  himself  assailed  by  new  fears.  Could  they  not 
profit  by  his  sleep  to  despatch  him?  The  night  is  the 
time  of  ambushes.  He  had  often  heard  his  mother  tell  of 
beds  which,  by  the  lowering  of  their  canopies,  smothered 
the  unfortunate  sleeper;  of  beds  which  sank  through  a 
trap,  so  softly  as  not  to  wake  the  occupant;  finally,  of 
secret  doors  opening  in  panels,  and  even  in  furniture,  to 
give  entrance  to  assassins.  This  luxurious  dinner,  these 
rich  wines,  had  they  not  been  sent  him  to  insure  a  sounder 
sleep?  All  this  was  possible,  nay,  probable,  and  Buvat, 
who  felt  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  in  the  highest 
degree,  took  his  candle,  and  commenced  a  most  minute 
investigation.  After  having  opened  the  doors  of  all  the 
cupboards,  sounded  all  the  panelling,  Buvat  had  gone 
down  on  his  hands  and  feet,  and  was  stretching  his  head 
timidly  under  the  bed,  when  he  thought  he  heard  steps 
behind  him.  The  position  in  which  he  found  himself  did 
not  permit  him  to  act  on  the  defensive;  he  therefore 
remained  motionless,  and  waited  with  a  beating  heart. 
After  a  few  seconds  of  solemn  silence,  which  filled  Buvat 
with  vague  alarms,  a  voice  said,  — 

"Your  pardon;  but  is  not  monsieur  looking  for  his 
nightcap  ?  " 

Buvat  was  discovered;  —  there  was  no  means  of  escaping 
the  danger,  if  danger  there  was.  He  therefore  drew  his 
head  from  under  the  bed,  took  his  candle,  and,  remaining 
on  his  knees  as  a  humble  and  beseeching  posture,  he 
turned  towards  the  individual  who  had  just  addressed 
him,  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  man  dressed 


378  THE    CHEVALIER    D'HARMENTAL. 

in  black,  and  carrying  folded  up  on  his  arm  many  articles, 
which  Buvat  recognised  as  human  clothes. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  Buvat,  seizing  the  opening  which 
was  oiïered  to  him,  with  a  presence  of  mind  on  which  he 
secretly  congratulated  himself;  "  is  that  search  forbidden?  " 

"Why  did  not  monsieur,  instead  of  troubling  himself, 
ring  the  bell?  I  have  the  honour  to  be  appointed 
monsieur's  valet  de  chambre,  and  I  have  brought  him  a 
nightcap  and  nightshirt." 

And  with  these  words  the  valet  de  chambre  spread 
on  the  bed  a  nightshirt  embroidered  with  flowers,  a  cap  of 
the  finest  lawn,  and  a  rose-coloured  ribbon.  Buvat,  still 
on  his  knees,  regarded  him  with  the  greatest  astonishment. 

"Now,"  said  the  valet  de  cJiambre,  "will  monsieur  allow 
me  to  help  him  to  undress?" 

"No,  monsieur,  no,"  said  .Buvat,  accompanying  the 
refusal  with  the  sweetest  smile  he  could  assume.  "No,  I 
am  accustomed  to  undress  myself.  I  thank  you,  mon- 
sieur." 

The  valet  de  chambre  retired,  and  Buvat  remained  alone. 

As  the  inspection  of  the  room  was  completed,  and  as  his 
increasing  hunger  rendered  sleep  more  necessary,  Buvat 
began  to  undress,  sighing;  placed,  in  order  not  to  be  left 
in  the  dark,  a  candle  on  the  corner  of  the  chimney-piece, 
and  sprang,  with  a  groan,  into  the  softest  and  warmest 
bed  he  had  ever  slept  on. 

"  The  bed  is  not  sleep  "  is  an  axiom  which  Buvat  might, 
from  experience,  have  added  to  the  list  of  his  true  prov- 
erbs. Either  from  fear  or  hunger,  Buvat  passed  a  very 
disturbed  night,  and  it  was  not  till  near  morning  that  he 
fell  asleep;  even  then  his  slumbers  were  peopled  with 
the  most  terrible  visions  and  nightmares.  He  was  just 
waking  from  a  dream  that  he  had  been  poisoned  by  a  leg 
of  mutton,  when  the  valet  de  chambre  entered,  and  asked 
at  what  time  he  would  like  breakfast. 

Buvat  was  not  in  the  habit  of  breakfasting  in  bed,  so 
he  rose  quickly,  and  dressed  in  haste  ;  he  had  just  finished, 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  379 

when  Messieurs  Bourguignon  and  Comtois  entered,  bring- 
ing the  breakfast,  as  the  day  before  they  had  brought  the 
dinner. 

Then  took  place  a  second  rehearsal  of  the  scene  which 
we  have  before  related,  with  the  exception  that  now  it  was 
Monsieur  Comtois  who  ate  and  Monsieur  Bourguignon  who 
waited;  but  when  it  came  to  the  coffee,  and  Buvat,  who 
had  taken  nothing  for  twenty-four  hours,  saw  his  dearly 
loved  beverage,  after  having  passed  from  the  silver  coffee- 
pot into  the  porcelain  cup,  pass  into  the  cavernous  mouth 
of  Monsieur  Comtois,  he  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and 
declared  that  his  stomach  demanded  to  be  amused  with 
something,  and  that,  consequently,  he  desired  that  they 
would  leave  him  the  coffee  and  a  roll.  This  declaration 
appeared  to  disturb  the  devotion  of  Monsieur  Comtois, 
who  was  nevertheless  obliged  to  satisfy  himself  with  one 
cup  of  the  odoriferous  liquid,  which ,  together  with  a  roll 
and  the  sugar,  was  placed  on  a  little  table,  while  the  two 
scamps  carried  off  the  rest  of  the  feast,  laughing  in  their 
sleeves. 

Scarcely  was  the  door  closed,  when  Buvat  darted  to- 
wards the  little  table,  and,  without  even  waiting  to  dip 
one  into  the  other,  ate  the  bread  and  drank  the  coffee; 
then,  a  little  comforted  by  that  repast,  insufficient  as  it 
was,  he  began  to  look  at  things  in  a  less  gloomy  point  of 
view. 

In  truth,  Buvat  was  not  wanting  in  a  certain  kind  of 
good  sense,  and  as  he  had  passed  the  preceding  evening 
and  night,  and  entered  on  the  present  morning,  withoul 
interference,  he  began  to  understand  that,  though  fron- 
some  political  motive  they  had  deprived  him  of  his  lib- 
erty, they  were  far  from  wishing  to  shorten  his  days,  and 
surrounded  him,  on  the  contrary,  with  cares  of  which  he 
had  never  before  been  the  object.  He  had  seen  that  the 
dinner  of  the  day  before  was  better  than  his  ordinary 
dinner,  that  the  bed  was  softer  than  his  ordinary  bed, 
that  the   coffee  he  had  just  drunk   possessed  an  aroma, 


;1S0  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

which  the  mixture  of  chicory  took  away  from  his,  and  he 
couhl  not  conceal  from  himself  that  the  elastic  couches 
and  stuffed  chairs  which  he  had  sat  upon  for  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  were  much  preferable  to  the  hair  sofa 
and  cane  chairs  of  his  own  establishment.  The  only 
thing,  then,  which  remained  to  trouble  him,  was  the 
uneasiness  which  Bathilde  would  feel  at  his  not  returning. 
He  had  for  an  instant  the  idea  —  not  daring  to  renew  the 
request  which  he  had  made  the  day  before,  to  have  news 
of  him  sent  to  his  ward  —  of  imitating  the  man  with  the 
iron  mask,  who  had  thrown  a  silver  plate  from  the  window 
of  his  prison  on  to  the  shore,  by  throwing  a  letter  from 
his  balcony  into  the  courtyard  of  the  Palais  Royal;  but 
he  knew  what  a  fatal  result  this  infraction  of  the  will  of 
Monsieur  de  Saint-Mars  had  had  for  the  unfortunate  pris- 
oner, so  that  he  feared,  by  such  an  action,  to  increase  the 
rigours  of  his  captivity,  which  at  present  seemed  to  him 
tolerable. 

The  result  of  all  these  reflections  was,  that  Buvat  passed 
the  morning  in  a  much  less  agitated  manner  than  he  had 
the  evening  and  the  night;  moreover,  his  hunger  — 
appeased  by  the  roll  and  the  coffee  —  only  existed  in  the 
form  of  that  appetite  which  is  an  enjoyment  when  one  is 
sure  of  a  good  dinner.  Add  to  all  this  the  particularly 
cheerful  lookout  which  the  prisoner  had  from  his  window, 
and  it  will  be  easily  understood  that  midday  arrived  with- 
out too  many  sorrows,  or  too  much  ennui. 

Exactly  at  one  o'clock  the  door  opened,  and  the  table 
reappeared  ready  laid,  and  brought,  like  the  day  before 
and  that  morning,  by  the  two  valets.  But  this  time  it 
was  neither  Monsieur  Bourguignon  nor  Monsieur  Comtois 
who  sat  down  to  it.  Buvat  declared  himself  perfectly 
reassured  concerning  the  intentions  of  his  august  host;  he 
thanked  Messieurs  Comtois  and  Bourguignon  for  the  devo- 
tion of  which  each  in  turn  had  given  him  a  proof,  and 
begged  them  to  wait  upon  him  in  their  turn.  The  two 
servants  made  wrj  faces,  but  obeyed.     It  will  be  under- 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  381 

îtood  that  the  happy  disposition  in  which  Buvat  now  was 
became  more  blissful  under  the  influence  of  a  good  dinner. 
Buvat  ate  all  the  eatables,  drank  all  the  drinkables,  and 
at  last,  after  having  sipped  his  coffee  —  a  luxury  which  he 
usually  only  allowed  himself  on  Sundays  —  and  having 
capped  the  Arabian  nectar  with  a  glass  of  Madame  Anfoux's 
liquor,  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  in  a  state  bordering 
upon  ecstasy. 

That  evening  the  supper  was  equally  successful  ;  but  as 
Buvat  had  abandoned  himself  at  dinner  rather  freely  to 
the  consumption  of  Chambertin  and  Sillery,  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening  he  found  himself  in  a  state  of  glori- 
fication impossible  to  describe.  The  consequence  was, 
that  when  the  valet  de  chambre  entered,  instead  of  finding 
him,  as  the  evening  before,  with  his  head  under  the  bed, 
he  found  Buvat  seated  on  a  comfortable  sofa,  his  feet  on 
the  hobs,  his  head  leaning  back,  his  eyes  winking,  and 
singing  between  his  teeth,  with  an  expression  of  infinite 
tenderness, 

"  Then  let  me  go, 
And  let  me  play 
Beneath  the  hazel-tree,"  — 

which,  as  may  be  seen,  was  a  great  improvement  on  the 
state  of  the  worthy  writer  twenty-four  hours  before. 
Moreover,  when  the  valet  de  chambre  offered  to  help  him 
to  undress,  Buvat,  who  found  a  slight  difficulty  in  expres- 
sing his  thoughts,  contented  himself  with  smiling  in  sign 
of  approbation;  then  extended  his  arms  to  have  his  coat 
taken  off,  then  his  legs  to  have  his  slippers  removed;  but, 
in  spite  of  his  state  of  exaltation,  it  is  only  just  to  Buvat 
to  say,  that  it  was  only  when  he  found  himself  alone  that 
he  laid  aside  the  rest  of  his  garments. 

This  time,  contrarj^  to  what  he  had  done  the  day  before, 
he  stretched  himself  out  luxuriously  in  his  bed,  and 
fell  asleep  in  five  minutes,  and  dreamed  that  he  was  the 
Grand  Turk. 

He  awoke  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  having  only  one  trouble, 


382  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

the  uneasiness  that  Bathilde  must  experience,  but  other- 
wise perfectly  happy. 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  that  the  breakfast  did  not 
lessen  his  good  spirits;  on  the  contrary,  being  informed 
that  he  might  write  to  Monsieur  the  Archbishop  of  Cam- 
bray,  he  asked  for  paper  and  ink,  which  were  brought 
him,  took  from  his  pocket  his  penknife,  which  never  left 
him,  cut  his  pen  with  the  greatest  care,  and  commenced, 
in  his  finest  writing,  a  most  touching  request,  that  if  his 
captivity  was  to  last,  Bathilde  might  be  sent  for,  or  at 
least  that  she  might  be  informed  that,  except  his  liberty, 
he  was  in  want  of  nothing,  thanks  to  the  kindness  of  the 
prime  minister. 

This  request,  to  the  caligraphy  of  which  Buvat  had 
devoted  no  little  care,  and  whose  capital  letters  repre- 
sented different  plants,  trees,  or  animals,  occupied  the 
worthy  writer  from  breakfast  till  dinner.  On  sitting 
down  to  table  he  gave  the  note  to  Bourguignon,  who 
charged  himself  with  carrying  it  to  the  prime  minister, 
saying  that  Comtois  would  wait  during  his  absence.  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  Bourguignon  returned,  and  informed 
Buvat  that  monseigneur  had  gone  out,  but  that  —  in  his 
absence — the  petition  had  been  given  to  the  person  who 
aided  him  in  his  public  affairs,  and  that  person  had 
requested  that  Monsieur  Buvat  would  come  and  see  him 
as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  dinner,  but  hoped  that 
monsieur  would  not  in  any  degree  hurry  himself,  since  he 
who  made  the  request  was  dining  himself.  In  accordance 
with  this  permission  Buvat  took  his  time,  feasted  on  the 
best  cookery,  imbibed  the  most  generous  wines,  sipped  his 
coffee,  played  with  his  glass  of  liquor,  and  then  — the  last 
operation  completed  —  declared  in  a  resolute  tone  that  he 
was  ready  to  appear  before  the  substitute  of  the  prime 
minister. 

The  sentinel  had  received  orders  to  let  him  pass,  so 
Buvat,  conducted  by  Bourguignon,  passed  proudly  by 
him.     For  some  time  they  followed  a  long  corridor,  than 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  383 

descended  a  staircase  ;  at  last  the  footman  opened  a  door, 
and  announced  Monsieur  Buvat. 

Buvat  found  himself  in  a  sort  of  laboratory,  situated  on 
the  ground  floor,  with  a  man  of  from  forty  to  forty-two, 
who  was  entirely  unknown  to  him,  and  who  was  very 
simply  dressed,  and  occupied  in  following  —  at  a  blazing 
furnace  —  some  chemical  experiment,  to  which  he  ap- 
peared to  attach  great  importance.  This  man,  seeing 
Buvat,  raised  his  head,  and  having  looked  at  him 
curiously,  — 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "are  you  Jean  Buvat  ?" 

"At  your  service,  monsieur,"  answered  Buvat,  bowing. 

"The  request  which  you  have  just  sent  to  the  abbé  is 
your  handwriting  ?  " 

"My  own,  monsieur." 

"You  write  a  fine  hand." 

Buvat  bowed  with  a  proudly  modest  smile. 

"The  abbé,"  continued  the  unknown,  "has  informed  me 
of  the  services  which  you  have  rendered  us." 

"Monseigneur  is  too  good,"  murmured  Buvat,  "it  was 
not  worth  the  trouble." 

"  How  !  not  worth  the  trouble  ?  Indeed,  Monsieur 
Buvat,  it  was,  on  the  contrary,  well  worth  the  trouble, 
and  the  proof  is,  that,  if  you  have  any  favour  to  ask  from 
the  regent,  I  will  charge  myself  with  the  message." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Buvat,  "since  you  are  so  good  as  to 
offer  to  interpret  my  sentiments  to  his  royal  highness, 
have  the  kindness  to  request  him,  when  he  is  less  pressed, 
if  it  is  not  too  inconvenient,  to  pay  me  my  arrears." 

"  How  !  your  arrears.  Monsieur  Buvat  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"I  mean,  monsieur,  that  I  have  the  honour  to  be 
employed  at  the  royal  library,  but  that  for  six  years  I 
have  received  no  salary." 

"  And  how  much  do  your  arrears  amount  to  ?  " 

"Monsieur,  I  must  have  a  pen  and  ink  to  calculate 
exactly." 


384  THE   CHEVALIER   D'H  ARMENT  AL. 

"Oh,  but  something  near  the  mark, — calculate  from 
memory." 

"To  five  thousand  three  hundred  and  odd  francs,  besides 
the  fractions  of  sous  and  deniers." 

"  And  you  wish  for  payment,  Monsieur  Buvat  ?  " 

"I  do  not  deny  it,  monsieur;  it  would  give  me  great 
pleasure." 

"  And  is  this  all  you  ask  ?  " 

"All." 

"But  do  you  not  ask  anything  for  the  service  which 
you  have  just  rendered  France  ?  " 

"Indeed,  monsieur,  I  should  like  permission  to  let  my 
ward  Bathilde  know  that  she  may  be  easy  on  my  account, 
and  that  I  am  a  prisoner  at  the  Palais  Koyal.  I  would 
also  ask  —  if  it  would  not  be  imj^osing  upon  your  kindness 
too  much  —  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  pay  me  a  little 
visit,  but,  if  this  second  request  is  indiscreet,  I  will 
confine  myself  to  the  first." 

"We  will  do  better  than  that;  the  causes  for  which  you 
were  retained  exist  no  more,  and  we  are  going  to  set  you 
at  liberty;  so  you  can  go  yourself  to  carry  the  news  to 
Bathilde." 

"What,  monsieur,  what!"  cried  Buvat;  "am  I,  then, 
no  longer  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"You  can  go  when  you  like." 

"Monsieur,  I  am  your  very  humble  servant,  and  I  have 
the  honour  of  presenting  you  my  respects." 

"Pardon,  Monsieur  Buvat,  one  word  more." 

"Two,  monsieur." 

"I  repeat  to  you  that  France  is  under  obligations  to 
you,  which  she  will  acquit.  Write,  then,  to  the  regent, 
inform  him  of  what  is  due  to  you,  show  him  your  situa- 
tion, and  if  you  have  a  particular  desire  for  anything,  say 
so  boldly.     I  guarantee  that  he  will  grant  your  request." 

"Monsieur,  you  are  too  good,  and  I  shall  not  fail.  I 
hope,  then,  that  out  of  the  first  money  which  comes  into 
the  treasury  —  " 


THE    SAVIOUR   OF   FRANCE.  385 

"You  will  be  paid.     I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Monsieur,  this  very  day  my  petition  shall  be  addressed 
to  the  regent." 

"And  to-morrow  you  will  be  paid." 

"Ah,  monsieur,  what  goodness  !  " 

"Go,  Monsieur  Buvat,  go;  your  ward  expects  you." 

"You  are  right,  monsieur,  but  she  will  lose  nothing  by 
having  waited  for  me,  since  I  bring  her  such  good  news.  I 
may  have  the  honour  of  seeing  you  again,  monsieur.  Ah  ! 
pardon,  would  it  be  an  indiscretion  to  ask  your  name  ?  " 

"Monsieur  Philippe." 

"  Au  revoir  !  Monsieur  Philippe  !  " 

"Adieu  !  Monsieur  Buvat.  One  instant,  — I  must  give 
orders  that  they  are  to  allow  you  to  pass." 

At  these  words  he  rang  :  an  usher  appeared. 

"Send  Kavanne." 

The  usher  went  out;  a  few  seconds  afterwards  a  young 
officer  of  guards  entered. 

"Ra vanne,"  said  Monsieur  Philippe,  "conduct  this  gen- 
tleman to  the  gate  of  the  Palais  Royal.  There  he  is  free 
to  go  where  he  wishes." 

"Yes,  monseigneur,"  answered  the  young  officer. 

A  cloud  passed  over  Buvat's  eyes,  and  he  opened  his 
mouth  to  ask  who  it  was  that  was  being  called  monseigneur, 
but  Ravanne  did  not  leave  him  time. 

"Come,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  await  you." 

Buvat  looked  at  Monsieur  Philippe  and  the  page  with 
a  stupefied  air;  but  the  latter  —  not  understanding  his 
hesitation  —  renewed  his  invitation  to  follow.  Buvat 
obeyed,  drawing  out  his  handkerchief,  and  wiping  his 
forehead. 

At  the  door,  the  sentinel  wished  to  stop  Buvat. 

"By  the  order  of  his  Royal  Highness,  Monseigneur  the 
Regent,  monsieur  is  free,"  said  Ravanne. 

The  soldier  presented  arms,  and  allowed  him  to  pass. 

Buvat  thought  he  should  faint;  he  felt  his  legs  fail  him, 
and  leaned  against  a  wall. 

25 


386  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  monsieur  ?  "  asked  his  guide. 

"]^ardon,  monsieur,"  murmured  Buvat,  "but  who  is  the 
person  to  whom  I  have  just  had  the  honour  of  speaking  ?  " 

"Monseigneur  the  llegent  in  person." 

"  Not  possible  !  " 

"Not  only  possible,  but  true." 

"  What  !  it  was  the  regent  himself  who  promised  to  pay 
me  my  arrears  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  he  promised  you,  but  I  know  that 
the  person  who  gave  me  the  order  to  accompany  you  was 
the  regent." 

"But  he  told  me  he  was  called  Philippe." 

"Well,  he  is,  —Philippe  d'Orléans." 

"  That  is  true,  monsieur,  that  is  true,  Philippe  is  his 
Christian  name.  The  regent  is  a  brave  man,  and  when  I 
remember  that  there  exist  scoundrels  who  conspire  against 
him, — against  a  man  who  has  promised  to  pay  me  my 
arrears  —  But  they  deserve  to  be  hanged,  all  of  them,  to 
be  broken  on  the  wheel,  drawn  and  quartered,  burnt  alive: 
do  not  you  think  so,  monsieur  ?" 

"Monsieur,"  said  Ravanne,  laughing,  "I  have  no 
opinion  on  matters  of  such  importance.  We  are  at  the 
gate;  I  should  be  happy  to  accompany  you  further,  but 
monseigneur  leaves  in  half  an  hour  for  the  Abbey  of 
Chelles,  and,  as  he  has  some  orders  to  give  me  before  his 
departure,  I  am,  to  my  great  regret,  obliged  to  quit  you." 

"All  the  regret  is  on  my  side,  monsieur,"  said  Buvat, 
graciously,  and  answering  by  a  profound  bow  to  the  slight 
nod  of  the  young  man,  who,  when  Buvat  raised  his  head, 
had  already  disappeared.  This  departure  left  Buvat  per- 
fectly free  in  his  movements,  and  he  profited  thereby  to 
take  his  way  down  the  Place  des  Victoires  towards  the 
Rue  du  Temps  Perdu,  round  the  corner  of  which  he  turned 
at  the  very  moment  when  D'Harmental  ran  his  sword 
through  the  body  of  Roquefinette.  It  was  at  this  moment 
that  poor  Bathilde  —  who  was  far  from  suspecting  what 
was    passing   in   her    neighbour's   room  —  had    seen   her 


THE  SAVIOUR  OF  FRANCE.  387 

guardian,  and  had  rushed  to  meet  him  on  the  stairs,  where 
Buvat  and  she  had  met  at  the  third  flight. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  dear  father,"  cried  Bathilde,  remounting 
the  staircase  in  Buvat's  arms,  and  stopping  to  embrace 
him  at  every  step,  "where  have  you  been?  What  has 
happened?  How  is  it  that  we  have  not  seen  you  since 
Monday  ?  What  uneasiness  you  have  caused  us,  mon 
Dieu  !    But  something  extraordinary  must  have  occurred." 

"Yes,  most  extraordinary,"  answered  Buvat. 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  tell  me  then,  first,  where  do  you  come 
from  ?  " 

"From  the  Palais  Koyal." 

"What!  from  the  Palais  Koyal;  and  with  whom  were 
you  stopping  at  the  Palais  Royal  ?  " 

"The  regent." 

"You  with  the  regent  !  and  what  about  ?" 

"I  was  a  prisoner." 

"  A  prisoner,  —  you  !  " 

"  A  State  prisoner." 

"  And  why  were  you  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"Because  I  have  saved  France." 

"  Oh,  father  !  are  you  mad  ?  "  cried  Bathilde,  terrified. 

"  No,  but  there  has  been  enough  to  make  me  so  if  I  had 
not  had  a  pretty  strong  head." 

"  Oh,  explain,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

"Fancy  that  there  was  a  conspiracy  against  the  regent." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  " 

"And  that  I  belonged  to  it." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I,  without  being  —  that  is  to  say,  you  know  that 
Prince  de  Listhnay  ?  " 

"Well!" 

"A  sham  prince,  my  child,  a  sham  prince  !  " 

"But  the  copies  which  you  made  for  him  ?" 

"Manifestos,  proclamations,  incendiary  papers,  a  gen- 
eral revolt  —  Brittany  —  Normandy  —  the  States-General 
—  King  of  Spain  —  I  have  discovered  all  this." 


388  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"You?"  cried  Bathilde,  horrified. 

"Yes,  I;  and  tlie  regent  has  called  me  the  savioar  of 
France,  — me;    and  is  going  to  pay  me  my  arrears." 

"  My  father,  my  father,  you  talk  of  conspirators,  do  you 
remember  the  name  of  any  of  them  ?  " 

"First,  Monsieur  the  Due  du  Maine;  fancy  that  mis- 
erable bastard  conspiring  against  a  man  like  Monseigneur 
the  Regent.  Then  a  Comte  de  Laval,  a  Marquis  de  Pom- 
padour, a  Baron  de  Valef,  the  Prince  de  Cellamare,  the  Abbé 
Brigaud,  that  abominable  Abbé  Brigand  !  Think  of  my 
having  copied  the  list." 

"My  father,"  said  Bathilde,  shuddering  with  fear,  "my 
father,  amongst  all  those  names,  did  you  not  see  the  name 
—  the  name  —  of  —  Chevalier  —  Raoul  d'Harmental  ?  " 

"That  I  did,"  cried  Buvat,  "the  Chevalier  Raoul  d'Har- 
mental, —  why  he  is  the  head  of  the  company  ;  but  the 
regent  knows  them  all.  This  very  evening  they  will  all 
be  arrested,  and  to-morrow  hung,  drawn,  quartered,  broken 
on  the  wheel." 

"  Oh,  luckless,  shameful,  that  you  are  !  "  cried  Bathilde, 
wringing  her  hands  wildly;  "you  have  killed  the  man 
whom  I  love;  but  1  swear  to  you,  by  the  memory  of  my 
mother,  that  if  he  dies  I  will  die  also  !  " 

And  thinking  that  she  might  still  be  in  time  to  warn 
D'Harmental  of  the  danger  which  threatened  him,  Bathilde 
left  Buvat  confounded,  darted  to  the  door,  flew  down  the 
staircase,  cleared  the  street  at  two  bounds,  rushed  up 
the  stairs,  and,  breathless,  terrified,  dying,  hurled  herself 
against  the  door  of  D'Harmental's  room,  which,  badly 
closed  by  the  chevalier,  yielded  before  her,  exposing  to 
her  view  the  body  of  the  captain  stretched  on  the  floor, 
and  swimming  in  a  sea  of  blood. 

At  this  sight,  so  widely  different  from  what  she  ex- 
pected, Bathilde,  not  thinking  that  she  might  perhaps  be 
compromising  her  lover,  sprang  towards  the  door,  calling 
for  help,  but  on  reaching  the  threshold,  either  from  weak- 
ness, or  from  the  blood,  her  foot  slipped,  and  she  fell 
backwards  with  a  terrible  cry. 


THE   SAVIOUR   OF    FRANCE.  389 

The  neighbours  came  running  in  the  direction  of  the 
cry,  and  found  that  Bathikle  had  fainted,  and  that  her 
head,  in  falling  against  the  angle  of  the  door,  had  been 
badly  wounded. 

They  carried  Bathilde  to  Madame  Denis's  room,  and  the 
good  woman  hastened  to  offer  her  hospitality. 

As  to  Captain  Koquefinette,  as  he  had  torn  off  the 
address  of  the  letter  which  he  had  in  his  pocket  to  light 
his  pipe  with,  and  had  no  other  paper  to  indicate  his 
name  or  residence,  they  carried  his  body  to  the  Morgue, 
where,  three  days  afterwards,  it  was  recognised  by  La 
Kormande. 


390         THE  CHEVALIER  DH  ARMENT  AL. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

GOD    DISPOSES. 

D'Harmental,  as  we  have  seen,  had  set  off  at  a  gallop, 
feeling  that  he  had  not  an  instant  to  lose  in  bringing 
about  the  changes  which  the  death  of  Captain  Roquefinette 
rendered  necessary  in  his  hazardous  enterprise.  In  the 
hope  of  recognising  by  some  sign  the  individuals  who  were 
destined  to  play  the  part  of  supernumeraries  in  this  great 
drama,  he  followed  the  Boulevards  as  far  as  the  Porte 
Saint  Martin,  and,  having  arrived  there,  turned  to  the 
left,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  the  horse  market:  it  was 
there,  it  will  be  remembered,  that  the  twelve  or  fifteen 
sham  peasants  enlisted  by  Roquefinette  waited  the  orders 
of  their  captain. 

But,  as  the  deceased  had  said,  no  sign  pointed  out  to 
the  eye  of  the  stranger  who  were  the  men,  clothed  like  the 
rest,  and  scarcely  known  to  one  another.  D'Harmental, 
therefore,  sought  vainly;  all  the  faces  were  unknown  to 
him;  buyers  and  sellers  appeared  equally  indifferent  to 
everything  except  the  bargains  which  they  were  conclud- 
ing. Twice  or  thrice,  after  having  approached  persons 
whom  he  fancied  he  recognised  as  false  bargainers,  he 
went  away  without  even  speaking  to  them,  so  great  was 
the  probability  that,  among  the  five  or  six  hundred  indi- 
viduals who  were  on  the  ground,  he  should  make  some 
mistake  which  might  be  not  only  useless,  but  even  dan- 
gerous. 

The  situation  was  pitiable.  D'Harmental  unquestion- 
ably had  there  ready  to  his  hand  all  the  means  necessary 
to  the  happy  completion  of  his  plot,  but  he  had,  in  killing 
the  captain,  broken  with  his  own  hand  the  thread  which 


GOD    DISPOSES.  391 

should  have  served  him  as  a  clue  to  them,  and,  the  centre 
link  broken,  the  whole  chain  had  become  useless. 

D'Harmental  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  came,  and  wan- 
dered to  and  fro,  from  end  to  end  of  the  market,  still 
hoping  that  some  unforeseen  event  would  get  him  out  of 
his  difficulty.  Time,  however,  flowed  away,  the  market 
presented  the  same  aspect,  no  one  spoke  to  him,  and  two 
peasants  to  whom  despair  had  caused  him  to  address  some 
ambiguous  words,  had  opened  their  eyes  and  mouths  in 
such  profound  astonishment  that  he  had  instantly  broken 
off  the  conversation,  convinced  that  he  was  mistaken. 

Five  o'clock  struck. 

At  eight  or  nine  the  regent  would  repair  to  Chelles, 
there  was  therefore  no  time  to  be  lost,  particularly  as  this 
ambuscade  was  the  last  resource  for  the  conspirators,  who 
might  be  arrested  at  any  moment,  and  who  staked  their 
remaining  hopes  on  this  last  throw.  D'Harmental  did 
not  conceal  from  himself  the  difficulties  of  the  situation; 
he  had  claimed  for  himself  the  honour  of  the  enterprise; 
on  him  therefore  rested  all  the  responsibility,  —  and  that 
responsibility  was  terrible.  On  the  other  hand,  he  found 
himself  in  one  of  those  situations  where  courage  is  useless, 
and  where  human  will  shatters  itself  against  an  impos- 
sibility, and  where  the  last  chance  is  to  confess  one's 
weakness,  and  ask  aid  from  those  who  expect  it  of  us.  • 
But  D'Harmental  was  a  man  of  determination  ;  his  reso- 
lution was  soon  taken.  He  took  a  last  turn  round  the 
market  to  see  if  some  conspirator  would  not  betray  him- 
self by  his  impatience  ;  but,  seeing  that  all  faces  retained 
their  expression  of  unconcern,  he  put  his  horse  to  the 
gallop,  rode  down  the  Boulevards,  gained  the  Faubourg 
Saint  Antoine,  dismounted  at  No.  15,  went  up  the  stair- 
case, opened  the  door  of  a  little  room,  and  found  himself 
in  the  company  of  Madame  du  Maine,  Laval,  Valef,  Pom- 
padour, Malezieux,  and  Brigaud. 

A  general  cry  arose  on  seeing  him. 

D'Harmental  related   everything, — the  pretensions   of 


392  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HAUMENÏAL. 

Roquefinette,  tlie  discussion  which  had  followed,  the  duel 
which  had  terminated  that  discussion.  He  opened  his 
cloak  and  showed  his  shirt  saturated  with  blood;  then  he 
passed  to  the  hopes  which  he  had  entertained  of  recognis- 
ing the  sham  peasants,  and  putting  himself  at  their  head 
in  place  of  the  captain.  He  showed  his  hopes  destroyed, 
his  investigations  useless,  and  wound  up  by  an  appeal  to 
Laval,  Pompadour,  and  Valef,  who  answered  that  they 
were  ready  to  follow  the  chevalier  to  the  end  of  the  earth, 
and  to  obey  his  orders. 

Nothing  was  lost  then,  —  four  resolute  men,  acting  on 
their  own  account,  were  well  worth  twelve  or  fifteen  hired 
vagabonds,  who  were  not  influenced  by  any  motive  beyond 
that  of  gaining  some  hundred  louis  apiece.  The  horses 
were  ready  in  the  stable,  every  one  had  come  armed; 
D'Avranches  was  not  yet  gone,  which  reinforced  the  little 
troop  by  another  devoted  man.  They  sent  for  masks  of 
black  velvet,  so  as  to  hide  from  the  regent  as  long  as 
possible  who  his  enemies  were,  left  with  Madame  du 
Maine  Malezieux,  who  from  his  age,  and  Brigand,  who 
from  his  profession,  were  naturally  excluded  from  such 
an  expedition,  fixed  a  rendezvous  at  Saint  Mandé,  and 
left  each  one  separately,  so  as  not  to  arouse  suspicions. 
An  hour  afterwards  the  five  friends  were  reunited,  and 
ambushed  on  the  road  to  Chelles,  between  Vincennes  and 
Nogent-sur-Marne. 

Half-past  six  struck  on  the  château  clock. 

D'Avranches  had  been  in  search  of  information.  The 
regent  had  passed  at  about  half -past  three  ;  he  had  neither 
guards  nor  suite,  he  was  in  a  carriage  and  four,  ridden 
by  two  jockeys,  and  preceded  by  a  single  outrider.  There 
was  no  resistance  to  be  feared;  on  arresting  the  prince 
they  would  turn  his  course  towards  Charenton,  where  the 
postmaster  was,  as  we  have  said,  in  the  interest  of  Madame 
du  Maine,  take  him  into  the  courtyard,  whose  door  would 
close  upon  him,  and  force  him  to  enter  a  travelling  car- 
riage, which  would  be  waiting  with  the  postilion  in  his 


GOD   DISPOSES.  393 

saddle.  D'Harmental  and  Valef  would  seat  themselves  by 
him,  they  would  cross  the  Marne  at  Alfort,  the  Seine  at 
Villeneuve-Saint-Georges,  reach  Grand-Vaux,  then  Mon- 
théry,  and  find  themselves  on  the  road  to  Spain.  If  at 
any  of  the  villages  where  they  changed  horses  the  regent 
endeavoured  to  call  out,  D'Harmental  and  Valef  would 
threaten  him,  and,  if  he  called  out  in  spite  of  the  menaces, 
they  had  that  famous  passport  to  prove  that  he  who 
claimed  assistance  was  not  the  prince,  but  only  a  madman 
who  thought  himself  the  regent,  and  whom  they  were 
conducting  to  his  family,  who  lived  at  Saragossa.  All 
this  was  a  little  dangerous,  it  is  true,  but,  as  is  well 
known,  these  are  the  very  enterprises  which  succeed,  so 
much  the  easier  from  their  unforeseen  audacity. 

Seven  o'clock,  eight  o'clock,  struck  successively. 
D'Harmental  and  his  companions  saw  with  pleasure  the 
night  approaching,  and  the  darkness  falling  more  and 
more  dense  and  black  around  them;  two  or  three  carriages 
had  already  given  false  alarms,  but  had  had  no  other  effect 
than  preparing  them  for  the  real  attack.  At  half -past 
eight  the  night  was  pitch  dark,  and  a  sort  of  natural  fear, 
which  the  conspirators  had  felt  at  first,  began  to  change 
into  impatience. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  thought  they  could  distinguish 
sounds.  D'Avranches  lay  down  with  his  ear  to  the 
ground,  and  distinctly  heard  the  rolling  of  a  carriage.  At 
that  instant  they  saw,  at  about  a  thousand  paces  from  the 
angle  of  the  road,  a  point  of  light  like  a  star;  the  conspir- 
ators trembled  with  excitement,  it  was  evidently  the 
outrider  with  his  torch.  There  was  soon  no  doubt,  —  they 
saw  the  carriage  with  its  two  lanterns.  D'Harmental, 
Pompadour,  Valef,  and  Laval,  grasped  one  another's 
hands,  put  on  their  masks,  and  each  one  took  the  place 
assigned  to  him.  The  carriage  advanced  rapidly,  —  it  was 
really  that  of  the  duke.  By  the  light  of  the  torch  which 
he  carried,  they  could  distinguish  the  red  dress  of  the 
outrider,  some  five  and  twenty  paces  before  the  horses. 


394  THE  ciiKVALiKR  d'iiarmental. 

The  road  was  silent  and  deserted,  everything  was  favoura- 
ble. D'Harmental  threw  a  last  glauce  on  his  companions. 
D'Avranches  was  in  the  middle  of  the  road  pretending 
to  be  druuk,  Laval  and  Pompadour  one  on  each  side  of 
the  path,  and  opposite  him  Valef,  who  was  cocking  his 
pistols.  As  to  the  outrider,  the  two  jockeys,  and  the 
prince,  it  was  evident  that  they  were  all  in  a  state  of  per- 
fect security,  and  would  fall  quietly  into  the  trap.  The 
carriage  still  advanced;  already  the  outrider  had  passed 
D'Harmental  and  Valef,  suddenly  he  struck  against 
D'Avranches,  who  sprang  up,  seized  the  bridle,  snatched 
the  torch  from  his  hand,  and  extinguished  it.  At  this 
sight  the  jockeys  tried  to  turn  the  carriage,  but  it  was  too 
late;  Pompadour  and  Laval  sprang  upon  them  pistol  in 
hand,  whilst  D'Harmental  and  Valef  presented  themselves 
at  the  two  doors,  extinguished  the  lanterns,  and  intimated 
to  the  prince  that  if  he  did  not  make  any  resistance  his 
life  would  be  spared,  but  that  if,  on  the  contrary,  he 
defended  himself,  or  cried  out,  they  were  determined  to 
proceed  to  extremities. 

Contrary  to  the  expectation  of  D'Harmental  and  Valef, 
who  knew  the  courage  of  the  regent,  the  prince  only 
said,  — 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  do  not  harm  me.  I  will  go  wherever 
you  wish." 

D'Harmental  and  Valef  threw  a  glance  at  tlie  road; 
they  saw  Pompadour  and  D'Avranches  leading  into  the 
depth  of  the  wood  the  outrider,  the  two  jockeys,  the  out- 
rider's horse,  and  two  of  the  carriage  horses  which  they 
had  unharnessed.  The  chevalier  sprang  from  his  horse, 
mounted  that  of  the  first  postilion;  Laval  and  Valef 
placed  themselves  before  the  doors,  the  carriage  set  off  at 
a  gallop,  and,  taking  the  first  turn  to  the  left,  began  to 
roll,  without  noise  and  without  light,  in  the  direction  of 
Charenton.  All  the  arrangements  had  been  so  perfect, 
that  the  seizure  had  not  occupied  more  than  five  minutes; 
no  resistance  had  been  made,  not  a  cry  had  been  uttered. 


GOD   DISPOSES.  395 

Most  assuredly,  this  time  fortune  was  on  the  side  of  the 
conspirators. 

But  having  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  cross  road,  D'Har- 
mental  encountered  a  first  obstacle;  the  barrier  —  either 
by  accident  or  design  —  was  closed,  and  they  were  obliged 
to  retrace  their  steps  and  take  another  road.  The  chev- 
alier turned  his  horses,  took  a  lateral  alley,  and  the 
journey,  interrupted  for  an  instant,  recommenced  at  an 
increased  speed. 

The  new  route  which  the  chevalier  had  taken  led  him 
to  a  four-cross  road;  one  of  the  roads  led  straight  to 
Charenton.  There  was  no  time  to  lose,  and  in  any  event 
he  must  traverse  this  square.  For  an  instant  he  thought 
he  distinguished  men  in  the  darkness  before  him,  but  this 
vision  disappeared  like  a  mist,  and  the  carriage  continued 
its  progress  without  interruption.  On  approaching  the 
cross  roads  D'Harmental  fancied  he  heard  the  neighing  of 
a  horse,  and  a  sort  of  ringing  of  iron,  like  sabres  being 
drawn  from  their  sheaths,  but  either  taking  it  for  the 
wind  among  the  leaves,  or  for  some  other  noise  for  which 
he  need  not  stop,  he  continued  with  the  same  swiftness, 
the  same  silence,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  same  darkness. 
But,  having  arrived  at  the  cross  roads,  D'Harmental 
noticed  a  singular  circi;mstance,  a  sort  of  wall  seemed  to 
close  all  the  roads;  something  was  happening.  D'Har- 
mental stopped  the  carriage,  and  wished  to  return  by  the 
road  he  had  come  down,  but  a  similar  wall  had  closed 
behind  him.  At  that  instant  he  heard  the  voices  of  Laval 
and  Valef  crying,  — 

"  We  are  surrounded,  save  yourself  !  " 

And  both  left  the  doors,  leaped  their  horses  over  the 
ditch,  darted  into  the  forest,  and  disappeared  amongst  the 
trees. 

But  it  was  impossible  for  D'Harmental,  who  was 
mounted  on  the  postillion's  horse,  to  follow  his  com- 
panions, and,  not  being  able  to  escape  the  living  wall, 
which  the   chevalier  recognised   as   a   regiment   of   mus- 


396  THE    CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

keteers,  he  tried  to  break  through  it,  and  with  his  head 
lowered,  and  a  pistol  in  each  hand,  spurred  his  horse  up 
the  nearest  road,  without  considering  whether  it  was  the 
right  one.  He  had  scarcely  gone  ten  steps,  however, 
wlien  a  musket-ball  entered  the  head  of  his  horse,  which 
fell,  entangling  D'llarmental's  leg.  Instantly  eight  or 
ten  cavaliers  sprang  upon  him;  he  fired  one  pistol  by 
hazard,  and  put  the  other  to  his  head,  to  blow  his  brains 
out,  but  he  had  not  time,  for  two  musketeers  seized  him 
by  the  arms,  and  four  others  dragged  him  from  beneath 
the  horse.  The  pretended  prince  descended  from  the  car- 
riage, and  turned  out  to  be  a  valet  in  disguise;  they 
placed  D'Harmental  with  two  officers  inside  the  carriage, 
and  harnessed  another  horse  in  the  place  of  the  one  which 
had  been  shot.  The  carriage  once  more  moved  forward, 
taking  a  new  direction,  and  escorted  by  a  squadron  of 
musketeers.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  it  rolled 
over  a  drawbridge,  a  heavy  door  grated  upon  its  hinges, 
and  D'Harmental  passed  under  a  sombre  and  vaulted  gate- 
way, on  the  inner  side  of  which  an  officer  in  the  uniform 
of  a  colonel  was  waiting  for  him.  It  was  Monsieur  de 
Launay,  the  governor  of  the  Bastille. 

If  our  readers  desire  to  know  how  the  plot  had  been 
discovered,  they  must  recall  the  conversation  between 
Dubois  and  La  Fillon.  The  gossip  of  the  prime  minister, 
it  will  be  remembered,  suspected  Roquefinette  of  being 
mixed  up  in  some  illicit  proceeding,  and  had  denounced 
him  on  condition  of  his  life  being  spared.  A  few  days 
afterwards  D'Harmental  came  to  her  house,  and  she  recog- 
nised him  as  the  young  man  who  had  held  the  former 
conference  with  Roquefinette.  She  had  consequently 
mounted  the  stairs  behind  him,  and,  going  into  the  next 
room,  had,  by  aid  of  a  hole  bored  in  the  partition,  heard 
everything. 

What  she  had  heard  was  the  project  for  carrying  off  the 
regent  on  his  return  from  Chelles.  Dubois  had  been 
informed  the   same   evening,  and,   in   order   to   take   the 


GOD   DISPOSES.  397 

conspirators  in  the  act,  had  put  a  suit  of  the  regent's 
clothes  on  Monsieur  Bourguignon,  and,  having  surrounded 
the  Bois  de  Vincennes  with  a  regiment  of  Gray  Musket- 
eers, besides  light-horse  and  dragoons,  had  produced  the 
result  we  have  just  related.  The  head  of  the  plot  had 
been  taken  in  the  fact,  and  as  the  prime  minister  knew 
the  names  of  all  the  conspirators  there  was  little  chance 
remaining  for  them  of  escape  from  the  meshes  of  the  vast 
net  which  was  hourly  closing  around  them. 


398  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A    PRIME    minister's    MEMORY. 

{Vhen  Bathilde  reopened  her  eyes,  she  found  herself  in 
Mademoiselle  Emilia's  room.  Mirza  was  lying  on  the  end 
of  the  bed;  the  two  sisters  were  one  at  each  side  of  her 
pillow,  and  Buvat,  overcome  by  grief,  was  sitting  in  a 
corner,  his  head  bent,  and  his  hands  resting  on  his  knees. 

At  first  all  her  thoughts  were  confused,  and  her  sensa- 
tion was  one  of  bodily  pain;  she  raised  her  hand  to  her 
head;  the  wound  was  behind  the  temple.  A  doctor,  who 
had  been  called  in,  had  arranged  the  first  dressing,  and 
left  orders  that  he  was  to  be  sent  for  if  fever  declared 
itself. 

Astonished  to  find  herself  —  on  waking  from  a  sleep 
which  had  appeared  to  her  heavy  and  painful  —  in  bed  in 
a  strange  room,  the  young  girl  turned  an  inquiring  glance 
on  each  person  present,  but  Emilie  and  Athenais  shunned 
her  eyes,  and  Buvat  heaved  a  mournful  sigh.  Mirza  alone 
stretched  out  her  little  head  for  a  caress.  Unluckily  for 
the  coaxing  little  creature,  Bathilde  began  to  recover  her 
memory;  the  veil  which  was  drawn  before  the  late  events 
rose  little  by  little,  and  soon  she  began  to  connect  the 
broken  threads  which  might  guide  her  in  the  past.  She 
recalled  the  return  of  Buvat,  what  he  had  told  her  of  the 
conspiracy,  the  danger  which  would  result  to  D'Harmental 
from  the  revelation  he  had  made.  Then  she  remembered 
her  hope  of  being  in  time  to  save  him,  the  rapidity  with 
which  she  had  crossed  the  street  and  mounted  the  stair- 
case; lastly,  her  entry  into  Raoul's  room  returned  to  hei 
memory,  and  once  more  she  found  herself  before  the 
corpse  of  Roquefinette. 


A   PRIME   minister's   MEMORY.  399 

"And  he,"  she  cried,  "what  has  become  of  him  ?" 

No  one  answered,  lor  neither  of  the  three  persons  who 
were  in  the  room  knew  what  reply  to  give;  only  Buvat, 
choking  with  tears,  rose,  and  went  towards  the  door. 
Bathilde  understood  the  grief  and  remorse  expressed  in 
that  mute  withdrawal  j  she  stopped  him  by  a  look,  and, 
extending  her  arms  towards  him,  — • 

"My  father,"  said  she,  "do  you  no  longer  love  your 
poor  Bathilde  ?  " 

"  I  no  longer  love  you,  my  darling  child  !  "  cried  Buvat, 
falling  on  his  knees,  and  kissing  her  hand,  "I  love  you 
no  longer  !  My  God  !  it  will  be  you  who  will  not  love  me 
now,  and  you  will  be  right,  for  I  am  worthless.  I  ought 
to  have  known  that  that  young  man  loved  you,  and  ought 
to  have  risked  all,  suffered  all,  rather  than —  But  you 
told  me  nothing,  you  had  no  confidence  in  me,  and  I  — 
with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world  —  made  nothing  but 
mistakes;  oh,  unlucky,  unhappy  that  I  am  !  you  will 
never  forgive  me,  and  then  —  how  shall  I  live  ?  " 

"Father,"  cried  Bathilde,  "for  Heaven's  sake  try  and 
find  out  what  has  happened." 

"Well,  my  child,  well,  I  will  discover;  will  not  you 
forgive  me  if  I  bring  you  good  news  ?  If  the  news  is  bad 
you  will  hate  me  even  more;  that  will  but  be  just;  but  you 
will  not  die,  Bathilde  ?  " 

"Go,  go,"  said  Bathilde,  throwing  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  giving  him  a  kiss,  in  which  fifteen  years  of 
gratitude  struggled  with  one  day  of  pain;  "go,  my  exist- 
ence is  in  the  hands  of  God;  He  only  can  decide  whether 
I  shall  live  or  die." 

Buvat  understood  nothing  of  all  this  but  the  kiss,  and 
—  having  inquired  of  Madame  Denis  how  the  chevalier 
had  been  dressed  — he  set  out  on  his  quest. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  for  a  detective  so  simple  as  Buvat 
to  trace  Raoul's  progress;  he  had  learnt  from  a  neighbour 
that  he  had  been  seen  to  spring  upon  a  gray  horse  which 
had  remained  some  half-hour  fastened  to  the  shutter,  and 


400  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

that  he  had  turned  round  the  Rue  Gros  Chenet.  A  grocer, 
who  lived  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Jeûneurs,  remem- 
bered having  seen  a  cavalier,  whose  person  and  horse 
agreed  perfectly  with  the  description  given  by  Buvat,  pass 
by  at  full  gallop;  and,  lastly,  a  fruit-woman,  who  kept 
a  little  shop  at  the  corner  of  the  Boulevards,  swore  posi- 
tively that  she  had  seen  the  man,  and  that  he  had  disap- 
peared by  the  Forte  Saint  Denis;  but  from  this  point  all 
the  information  was  vague,  unsatisfactory,  and  uncertain, 
BO  that,  after  two  hours  of  useless  inquiry,  Buvat  returned 
to  Madame  Denis's  house  without  any  more  definite  infor- 
mation to  give  Bathilde  than  that,  wherever  D'Harmental 
might  be  gone,  he  had  passed  along  the  Boulevard  Bonne- 
Nouvelle.  Buvat  found  his  ward  much  agitated;  during 
his  absence  she  had  grown  rapidly  worse,  and  the  crisis 
foreseen  by  the  doctor  was  fast  approaching.  Bathilde's 
eyes  flashed;  her  skin  seemed  to  glow;  her  words  were 
short  and  firm.  Madame  Denis  had  just  sent  for  the 
doctor. 

The  poor  woman  was  not  without  her  own  anxieties  ;  for 
some  time  she  had  suspected  that  the  Abbé  Brigand  was 
mixed  up  in  some  plot,  and  what  she  had  just  learned, 
that  D'Harmental  was  not  a  poor  student  but  a  rich 
colonel,  confirmed  her  conjectures,  since  it  had  been 
Brigand  who  had  introduced  him  to  her.  This  similarity 
of  position  had  not  a  little  contributed  to  soften  her  heart 
—  always  kind  —  towards  Bathilde.  She  listened,  then, 
with  eagerness  to  the  little  information  which  Buvat  had 
been  able  to  collect  for  the  sufferer,  and,  as  it  was  far 
from  being  sufficiently  positive  to  calm  the  patient,  she 
promised,  if  she  heard  anything  herself,  to  report  it 
directly. 

In  the  mean  time  the  doctor  arrived.  Great  as  was  his 
command  over  himself,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  thought 
Bathilde  in  some  danger;  he  bled  her  abundantly,  ordered 
refreshing  drinks,  and  advised  that  some  one  should  watch 
at  the  bedside.     Emilie  and  Athenais,  who,  their  little 


A   PRIME   MINISTER'S    MEMORY.  401 

absurdities  excepted,  were  excellent  girls,  declared  directly 
that  that  was  their  business,  and  that  they  would  pass  the 
night  with  Bathilde  alternately;  Emilie,  as  eldest,  claimed 
the  first  watch,  which  was  given  her  without  contest.  As 
to  Buvat,  since  he  could  not  remain  in  the  room,  they 
asked  him  to  return  home,  a  thing  to  which  he  would  not 
consent  till  Bathilde  herself  had  begged  it.  The  bleeding 
had  somewhat  calmed  her,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  better; 
Madame  Denis  had  left  the  room;  Mademoiselle  Athenais 
also  had  retired;  Monsieur  Boniface,  after  returning  from 
the  Morgue,  where  he  had  been  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  body 
of  Roquefinette,  had  mounted  to  his  own  room,  and  Emilia 
watched  by  the  fireplace,  and  read  a  little  book  which  she 
took  from  her  pocket.  She  shortly  heard  a  movement  in 
the  bed,  and  ran  towards  it;  then,  after  an  instant's 
silence,  during  which  she  heard  the  opening  and  shutting 
of  two  or  three  doors,  and  before  she  had  time  to  say, 
"  That  is  not  the  voice  of  Monsieur  Raoul,  it  is  the  Abbé 
Brigand,"  Bathilde  had  fallen  back  on  her  pillow. 

An  instant  afterwards  Madame  Denis  half  opened  the 
door,  and  in  a  trembling  voice  called  Emilie,  who  kissed 
Bathilde  and  went  out. 

Suddenly  Bathilde  was  aroused;  the  abbé  was  in  the 
room  next  to  hers,  and  she  thought  that  she  heard  him 
pronounce  Raoul's  name.  She  now  remembered  having 
several  times  seen  the  abbé  at  D'Harmental's  rooms;  she 
knew  that  he  was  one  of  the  most  intimate  friends  of 
Madame  du  Maine  ;  she  thought,  then,  that  the  abbé  must 
bring  news  of  him.  Her  first  idea  was  to  slip  from  the 
bed,  put  on  a  dressing-gown,  and  go  and  ask  what  had 
happened;  but  she  considered  that  if  the  news  was  bad 
they  would  not  tell  it,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to  over- 
hear the  conversation,  which  appeared  animated.  Con- 
sequently she  pressed  her  ear  to  the  panel,  and  listened 
as  if  her  whole  life  had  been  spent  in  cultivating  that 
single  sense. 

Brigaud  was  relating  to  Madame  Denis  what  had  hap- 

86 


402  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

pened.  Valef  had  made  his  way  to  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Antoine,  and  given  warning  to  Madame  du  Maine  of  the 
faihire  of  the  expedition.  Madame  du  Maine  had  imme- 
diately freed  the  conspirators  from  their  oaths,  advised 
Malezieux  and  Brigand  to  save  themselves,  and  retired  to 
the  Arsenal.  Brigand  came  therefore  to  bid  adieu  to 
Madame  Denis;  he  was  going  to  attempt  to  reach  Spain 
in  the  disguise  of  a  pedlar.  In  the  midst  of  his  recital, 
interrupted  by  the  exclamation  of  poor  Madame  Denis  and 
of  Mademoiselle  Athenais  and  Emilie,  the  abbé  thought 
that  he  heard  a  cry  in  the  next  room,  just  at  the  time 
when  he  was  relating  D'Harmental's  catastrophe;  but  as 
no  one  had  paid  any  attention  to  the  cry,  and  as  he  was 
not  aware  of  Bathilde's  being  there,  he  had  attached  no 
importance  to  this  noise,  regarding  the  nature  of  which 
he  might  easily  have  been  mistaken;  moreover  Boniface, 
summoned  in  his  turn,  had  entered  at  the  moment,  and,  as 
the  abbé  had  a  particular  fancy  for  Boniface,  his  entrance 
had  naturally  turned  Brigand's  thoughts  into  a  different 
channel. 

Still,  this  was  not  the  time  for  long  leave-takings  ; 
Brigand  desired  that  daylight  should  find  him  as  far  as 
possible  from  Paris.  He  took  leave  of  the  Denis  family, 
and  set  out  with  Boniface,  who  declared  that  he  would 
accompany  friend  Brigand  as  far  as  the  barrier. 

As  they  opened  the  staircase  door  they  heard  the  voice 
of  the  portress,  who  appeared  to  be  opposing  the  passage 
of  some  one  ;  they  descended  to  discover  the  cause  of  the 
discussion,  and  found  Bathilde,  with  streaming  hair, 
naked  feet,  and  wrapped  in  a  long  white  robe,  standing  on 
the  staircase,  and  endeavouring  to  go  out  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  of  the  portress.  The  poor  girl  had  heard  every- 
thing: the  fever  had  changed  into  delirium;  she  would 
join  Raoul;  she  would  see  him  again;  she  would  die  with 
him. 

The  three  women  took  her  in  their  arms.  For  a  minute 
she  struggled  against  them,  murmuring  incoherent  words  j 


A   PKIME    minister's    MEMORY.  403 

her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  fever,  while  her  limbs 
trembled,  and  her  teeth  chattered;  but  soon  her  strength 
failed  her,  her  head  sank  back,  and,  calling  on  the  name 
of  Raoul,  she  fainted  a  second  time. 

They  sent  once  more  for  the  doctor.  What  he  had 
feared  was  now  no  longer  doubtful, — brain  fever  had 
declared  itself.  At  this  moment  some  one  knocked;  it 
was  Buvat,whom  Brigaud  and  Boniface  had  found  wander- 
ing to  and  fro  before  the  house  like  a  ghost,  and  who,  not 
able  to  keep  up  any  longer,  had  come  to  beg  a  seat  in  some 
corner,  he  did  not  care  where,  so  long  as  from  time  to  time 
he  had  news  of  Bathilde.  The  poor  famil}^  were  too  sad 
themselves  not  to  feel  for  the  grief  of  others.  Madame 
signed  to  Buvat  to  seat  himself  in  a  corner,  and  retired 
into  her  own  room  with  Athenais,  leaving  Emilie  once 
more  with  the  sufferer.  About  daybreak  Boniface  re- 
turned; he  had  gone  with  Brigaud  as  far  as  the  Barrière 
d'Enfer,  where  the  abbé  had  left  him,  hoping  —  thanks  to 
his  good  steed,  and  to  his  disguise  —  to  reach  the  Spanish 
frontier. 

Bathilde's  delirium  continued.  All  night  she  talked  of 
Raoul;  she  often  mentioned  Buvat's  name,  and  always 
accused  him  of  having  killed  her  lover.  Buvat  heard  it, 
and,  without  daring  to  defend  himself,  to  reply,  or  even 
to  groan,  had  silently  burst  into  tears,  and,  pondering  on 
what  means  existed  of  repairing  the  evil  he  had  caused, 
he  at  last  arrived  at  a  desperate  resolution.  He  approached 
the  bed,  kissed  the  feverish  hand  of  Bathilde,  who  did  not 
recognise  him,  and  went  out. 

Buvat,  had,  in  fact,  determined  on  a  bold  course.  It 
was  to  go  himself  to  Dubois,  tell  him  everything,  and  ask 
as  his  recompense,  not  the  payment  of  his  arrears,  not 
advancement  at  the  library,  b\it  pardon  for  D'Harmental. 
It  was  the  least  that  could  be  accorded  to  the  man  whom 
the  regent  himself  had  called  the  saviour  of  France. 
Buvat  did  not  doubt  that  he  should  soon  return  bearing 
good  news,  and  that  it  would  restore  Bathilde  to  health. 


40-i  TllK   CHEVALIER   d'HAUMENïAL. 

Consequently  Buvat  went  home  to  arrange  his  disordered 
dress,  which  bore  the  marks  of  the  events  of  the  day  and 
the  emotions  of  the  night;  and,  moreover,  he  did  not  dare 
to  present  himself  at  the  minister's  house  so  early,  for 
fear  of  disturbing  him.  His  toilet  finished,  and  as  it  was 
still  only  nine  o'clock,  he  returned  for  a  few  minutes  to 
Bathilde's  room;  it  was  that  which  the  young  girl  had 
left  the  day  before.  Buvat  sat  down  in  the  chair  whii;h 
she  had  quitted,  touched  the  articles  which  she  liked  to 
touch,  kissed  the  feet  of  the  crucifix,  which  she  kissed 
each  night,  — one  would  have  thought  him  a  lover  follow- 
ing the  steps  of  his  mistress. 

Ten  o'clock  struck;  it  was  the  hour  at  which  Buvat  had 
often  before  repaired  to  the  Palais  Royal.  The  fear  of 
being  importunate  gave  place  to  the  hope  of  being  received 
as  he  had  always  been.  He  took  his  hat  and  cane,  and 
called  at  Madame  Denis's  to  ask  how  Bathilde  had  been 
during  his  absence  ;  he  found  that  she  had  never  ceased  to 
call  for  Raoul.  The  doctor  had  bled  her  for  the  third 
time.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  heaved  a  profound 
sigh,  and  set  out  for  the  Palais  Royal. 

The  moment  was  unlucky.  Dubois,  who  had  been  con- 
stantly on  his  feet  for  four  or  five  days,  suffered  horribly 
from  the  malady  which  was  to  cause  his  death  in  a  few 
months;  moreover,  he  was  beyond  measure  annoyed  that 
only  D'Harmental  had  been  taken,  and  had  just  given 
orders  to  Leblanc  and  D'Argenson  to  press  on  the  trial 
with  all  possible  speed,  when  his  valet  de  chambre,  who 
was  accustomed  to  see  the  worthy  writer  arrive  every 
morning,  announced  Monsieur  Buvat. 

"And  who  the  devil  is  Monsieur  Buvat  ?" 

"It  is  I,  monseigneur,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  venturing 
to  slip  between  the  valet  and  the  door,  and  bowing  his 
honest  head  before  the  prime  minister. 

"  Well,  who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Dubois,  as  if  he  had  never 
seen  him  before. 

"  What,  monseigneur  !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  Buvat, 


A  PRIME   minister's   MEMORY.  405 

"  do  you  not  recognise  me  ?  I  come  to  congratulate  you 
on  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy." 

"I  get  congratulations  enough  of  that  kind,  thanks  for 
yours,  Monsieur  Buvat,"  said  Dubois,  quietly. 

"But,  monseigneur,  1  come  also  to  ask  a  favour." 

"  A  favour  !  and  on  what  grounds  ?  " 

"Monseigneur,"  stammered  Buvat,  "but  —  monseigneur 
—  do  you  not  remember  that  you  promised  me  a  —  a 
recompense." 

"A  recompense  to  you,  you  double  idiot." 

"What!  monseigneur,"  continued  poor  Buvat,  getting 
more  and  more  frightened,  "  do  you  not  recollect  that  you 
told  me  here,  in  this  very  room,  that  I  had  my  fortune  at 
my  fingers'  ends  ?  " 

"  And  now,  "  said  Dubois,  "  I  tell  you  that  you  have  your 
life  in  your  legs,  for  unless  you  decamp  pretty  quick  —  " 

"  But,  monseigneur  —  " 

"Ah!  you  reason  with  me,  scoundrel,"  shouted  Dubois, 
raising  himself  with  one  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and 
the  other  on  his  archbishop's  crook,  "  wait,  then,  you  shall 
see  —  " 

Buvat  had  seen  quite  enough  ;  at  the  threatening  gesture 
of  the  premier  he  understood  what  was  to  follow,  and, 
turning  round,  he  fled  at  full  speed;  but,  quick  as  he  was, 
he  had  still  time  to  hear  Dubois,  with  the  most  horrible 
oaths  and  curses,  order  his  valet  to  beat  him  to  death  if 
ever  again  he  put  his  foot  inside  the  door  of  the  Palais 
Royal. 

Buvat  understood  that  there  was  no  more  hope  in  that 
direction,  and  that,  not  only  must  he  renounce  the  idea  of 
being  of  service  to  D'Harmental,  but  also  of  the  payment 
of  his  arrears,  in  which  he  had  fondly  trusted.  This 
chain  of  thought  naturally  reminded  him  that  for  eight 
days  he  had  not  been  to  the  library.  He  was  near  there; 
he  resolved  to  go  to  his  ofi&ce,  if  it  was  only  to  excuse  him- 
self to  his  superior,  and  relate  to  him  the  causes  of  his 
absence;  but  here  a  grief,  not  less  terrible  than  the  rest, 


406  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

was  in  store  for  Buvat;  on  opening  the  door  of  his  office 
he  saw  his  seat  occupied  j  a  stranger  had  been  appointed 
to  his  place  ! 

As  he  had  never  before  —  during  the  whole  fifteen  years 
—  been  an  hour  late,  the  curator  had  imagined  him  dead, 
and  had  replaced  him.  Buvat  had  lost  his  situation  for 
having  saved  France  ! 

This  last  stroke  was  more  than  he  could  bear,  and  Buvat 
returned  home  almost  as  ill  as  Bathilde. 


BONIFACE.  407 


CHAPTER  XL. 

BONIFACE. 

As  we  have  seen,  Dubois  urged  on  the  trial  of  D'Har- 
inental,  hoping  that  his  revelations  would  furnish  him 
with  weapons  against  those  whom  he  wished  to  attack,  but 
D'Harmental  took  refuge  in  a  total  denial  with  respect  to 
others.  As  to  what  concerned  himself  personally,  he  con- 
fessed everything,  saying  that  his  attempt  on  the  regent 
was  the  result  of  private  revenge,  —  a  revenge  which  had 
arisen  from  the  injustice  which  had  been  done  him  in 
depriving  him  of  his  regiment.  As  to  the  men  who  had 
accompanied  him,  and  who  had  lent  him  their  aid  in  the 
execution  of  his  plans,  he  declared  that  they  were  poor 
devils  of  peasants,  who  did  not  even  know  whom  they 
were  escorting.  All  this  was  not  highly  probable,  but 
there  was  no  means  of  bringing  anything  beyond  the 
answers  of  the  accused  to  bear  on  the  matter  ;  the  conse- 
quence was,  that,  to  the  infinite  annoyance  of  Dubois,  the 
real  criminals  escaped  his  vengeance,  under  cover  of  the 
eternal  denials  of  the  chevalier,  who  denied  having  seen 
Monsieur  or  Madame  du  Maine  more  than  once  or  twice 
in  his  life,  or  ever  having  been  trusted  with  any  political 
mission  by  either  of  them. 

They  had  arrested  successively  Laval,  Pompadour,  and 
Valef,  and  had  taken  them  to  the  Bastille,  but  they  knew 
that  they  might  rely  upon  the  chevalier;  and,  as  the  situa- 
tion in  which  they  found  themselves  had  been  foreseen, 
and  it  had  been  agreed  what  each  should  say,  they  all 
entirely  denied  any  knowledge  of  the  affair,  confessing 
associations  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  du  Maine,  but 
saying  that  those  associations  were  confined  to  a  respectful 


408  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

friendship.  As  to  D'Harmental,  they  knew  him,  they 
said,  for  a  man  of  honour,  who  complained  of  a  great 
injustice  which  had  been  done  to  him.  They  were  con- 
fronted, one  after  another,  with  the  chevalier;  but  these 
interviews  had  no  other  result  than  that  of  confirming 
each  in  his  system  of  defence,  and  showing  each  that  the 
system  was  religiously  adhered  to  by  his  companion. 

Dubois  was  furious;  he  reopened  the  proofs  for  the 
affair  of  the  States-General,  but  that  had  been  settled  by 
the  special  parliament,  which  had  condemned  the  King 
of  Spain's  letters,  and  degraded  the  legitimated  princes 
from  their  rank;  every  one  regarded  them  as  suflficiently 
punished  by  this  judgment,  without  raising  a  second  pros- 
ecution against  them  on  the  same  grounds.  Dubois  had 
hoped,  by  the  revelations  of  D'Harmental,  to  entangle 
Monsieur  and  Madame  du  Maine  in  a  new  trial,  more  seri- 
ous than  the  first;  for  this  time  it  was  a  question  of  a 
direct  attempt,  if  not  on  the  life,  at  least  on  the  liberty  of 
the  regent;  but  the  obstinacy  of  the  chevalier  destroyed 
all  his  hopes.  His  anger  had  therefore  turned  solely  on 
D'Harmental,  and,  as  we  have  said,  he  had  ordered 
Leblanc  and  D'Argenson  to  expedite  the  prosecution,  — 
an  order  which  the  two  magistrates  had  obeyed  with  their 
ordinary  punctuality. 

During  this  time  Bathilde's  illness  had  progressed  in  a 
manner  which  had  brought  the  poor  girl  to  death's  door; 
but  at  last  youth  and  vigour  had  triumphed  ;  to  the  excite- 
ment of  delirium  had  succeeded  a  complete  and  utter 
prostration  ;  one  would  have  said  that  the  fever  alone  had 
sustained  her,  and  that  in  departing  it  had  taken  life 
along  with  it. 

Still  every  day  brought  improvement  —  slight,  it  is 
true,  but  decided  —  to  the  eyes  of  the  good  people  who 
surrounded  the  bed  of  sickness.  Little  by  little  Bathilde 
began  to  recognise  those  who  were  about  her,  then  she 
had  stretched  out  her  hand  to  them,  and  then  spoken  to 
them.     As  yet,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one,  they  had 


BONIFACE.  409 

remarked  that  Bathilde  had  not  mentioned  the  name  of 
D'Harmental;  this  was  a  great  relief  to  those  who  watched 
her,  for,  as  they  had  none  but  sad  news  to  give  her  about 
him,  they  preferred,  as  will  easily  be  understood,  that  she 
should  remain  silent  on  the  subject;  every  one  believed, 
and  the  doctor  most  of  all,  that  the  young  girl  had  com- 
pletely forgotten  the  past,  or,  if  she  remembered  it,  that 
she  confounded  the  reality  with  the  dreams  of  her  deli- 
rium. They  were  all  wrong,  even  the  doctor:  this  was 
what  had  occurred. 

One  morning  when  they  had  thought  Bathilde  sleeping, 
and  had  left  her  alone  for  a  minute,  Boniface,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  severity  of  his  neighbour,  still  preserved  a 
great  fund  of  tenderness  towards  her,  had,  as  was  his 
custom  every  morning  since  she  had  been  ill,  half -opened 
the  door  to  ask  news  of  her.  The  growling  of  Mirza 
aroused  Bathilde,  who  turned  round  and  saw  Boniface, 
and  having  before  conjectured  that  she  might  probably 
know  from  him  that  which  she  should  ask  in  vain  from 
the  others,  namely,  what  had  become  of  D'Harmental,  she 
had,  while  quieting  Mirza,  extended  her  pale  and  emaci- 
ated hand  to  Boniface.  Boniface  took  it  between  his  own 
two  great  red  hands,  then,  looking  at  the  young  girl,  and 
shaking  his  head,  — 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  yes,"  said  he,  "you  were 
right  ;  you  are  a  lady,  and  I  am  only  a  coarse  peasant. 
You  deserved  a  nobleman,  and  it  was  impossible  that  you 
should  love  me." 

"As  you  wished,  true,  Boniface  ;  but  I  can  love  you  in 
another  manner." 

"True,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  very  true  ;  well,  love 
me  as  you  will,  so  that  you  love  me  a  little." 

"I  can  love  you  as  a  brother." 

"  As  a  brother  !  You  could  love  poor  Boniface  as  a 
brother,  and  he  might  love  you  as  a  sister;  he  might 
sometimes  hold  your  hand  as  he  holds  it  now,  and  em- 
brace you  as   he   sometimes   embraces  Melie  and  Nais  ? 


410  THE   CHEVALIEfi   D'HARMENTAL. 

Oh  !   speak,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  what  must  I  do  for 
that  ?  " 

"  My  friend  —  "  said  Bathilde. 

"She  has  called  me  her  friend,"  said  Boniface j  "she 
has  called  me  her  friend,  —  I,  who  have  said  such  things 
about  her.  Listen,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde:  do  not  call 
me  your  friend,  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  name.  You  do 
not  know  what  I  have  said.  I  said  that  you  lived  with  an 
old  man;  but  I  did  not  believe  it,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde, 
on  my  honour  I  did  not  ;  it  was  anger,  it  was  rage.  Made- 
moiselle Bathilde,  call  me  beggar,  rascal;  it  will  give  me 
less  pain  than  to  hear  you  term  me  your  friend." 

"My  friend,"  recommenced  Bathilde,  "if  you  have  said 
all  that,  I  pardon  you,  for  now  not  only  can  you  make  up 
for  it,  but  also  acquire  eternal  claims  upon  my  gratitude," 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  ?     Speak  !     Let  me  see  !     Must  I 
go  through  the  fire  ?     Shall  I  jump  out  of  the  second-floor 
window?    Shall  I  —    What  shall  I  do  ?   Tell  me  !    Every 
thing  is  alike." 

"No,  no,  my  friend,  something  much  easier." 

"Speak,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  sp'^ak  !" 

"First,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  swear  to  do  it." 

*'  i  swear  by  Heaven  !  " 

"  Whatever  they  may  say  to  hinder  you  ?  " 

"Hinder  me  from  doing  what  you  ask  ?  — never  !  " 

"  Whatever  may  be  the  grief  that  it  may  cause  me  ?  " 

"No,  that  is  a  different  thing;  if  it  is  to  give  you  pain 
I  would  rather  be  cut  in  half." 

"But  if  I  beg  you,  my  friend,  my  brother,"  said  Ba- 
thilde, in  her  most  persuasive  voice. 

"  Oh,  if  you  speak  like  that  I  shall  cry  like  the  Fountain 
of  the  Innocents  !  " 

And  Boniface  began  to  sob. 

"You  will  tell  me  all,  then,  my  dear  Boniface  ?" 

"Everything." 

"  Well,  tell  me  first  —  "    Bathilde  stopped. 

"What?" 


BONIFACE.  411 

"  Can  you  not  imagine,  Boniface  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  so;  you  want  to  know  what  has  become 
of  Monsieur  Raoul,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  cried  Bathilde,  "in  Heaven's  name,  what 
has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"Poor  fellow  !  "  murmured  Boniface. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  is  he  dead  ?  "  exclaimed  Bathilde,  sitting 
up  in  the  bed. 

"No,  happily  not;  but  he  is  a  prisoner." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"In  the  Bastille." 

"I  feared  it,"  said  Bathilde,  sinking  down  in  the  bed; 
"  in  the  Bastille  !     Oh,  vfion  Dieu  !  mon  Dieu  !  " 

"Oh,  now  you  are  crying,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde." 

"  And  I  am  here  in  this  bed  chained,  dying  !  "  cried 
Bathilde. 

"Oh,  do  not  cry  like  that,  mademoiselle;  it  is  your  poor 
Boniface  who  begs  you." 

"No,  I  will  be  firm,  I  will  have  courage;  see,  Boniface, 
I  weep  no  longer;  but  you  understand  that  I  must  know 
everything  from  hour  to  hour,  so  that  when  he  dies  I  may 
die." 

"  You  die.  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  !     Never,  never  !  " 

"  You  have  promised,  you  have  sworn  it.  Boniface,  you 
will  keep  me  informed  of  all  ?  " 

"  Oh,  wretch  that  I  am,  what  have  I  promised  !  " 

"And,  if  it  must  be,  at  the  moment, — the  terrible 
moment,  —  you  will  aid  me,  you  will  conduct  me,  will  you 
not,  Boniface?  I  must  see  him  again  —  once  —  once  more 
—  if  it  be  on  the  scaffold." 

"I  will  do  all  you  desire,  mademoiselle,"  said  Boniface, 
falling  on  his  knees,  and  trying  vainly  to  restrain  his  sobs. 

"You  promise  me  ?" 

"I  swear." 

"  Silence  !  some  one  is  coming.  Not  a  word  of  this  ;  it  is 
a  secret  between  us  two.  Rise,  wipe  your  eyes,  do  as  I 
do,  and  leave  me." 


412  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

And  Bathilde  began  to  laugh  with  a  feverish  nervous 
ness  that  was  frightful  to  see.     Luckily  it  was  only  Buvat, 
and  Boniface  profited  by  his  entrance  to  depart. 
"Well,  how  are  you  ?"  asked  the  good  man, 
"Better,    father, — much    better;    I   feel    my   strength 
returning;  in  a  few  days  I  shall  be  able  to  rise;  but  you, 
father,  why  do  you  not  go  to  the  office  ?  "     Buvat  sighed 
deeply.     "  It  was  kind  not  to  leave  me  when  I  was  ill,  but 
now  I  am  getting  better,  you  must  return  to  the  library, 
father." 

"Yes,  my  child,  yes,"  said  Buvat,  swallowing  his  sobs. 
"Yes,  I  am  going." 

"  Are  you  going  without  kissing  me  ?  " 

"No,  my  child,  no  indeed." 

"Why,  father,  you  are  crying,  and  yet  you  see  that  I 
am  better  !  " 

"  I  cry  !  "  said  Buvat,  wiping  his  eyes  with  his  handker- 
chief. "I  crying  !  If  I  am  crying,  it  is  only  for  joy. 
Yes,  I  am  going,  my  child  —  to  my  office  —  I  am  going." 

And  Buvat,  after  having  embraced  Bathilde,  returned 
home,  for  he  would  not  tell  his  poor  child  that  he  had  lost 
his  place,  and  the  young  girl  was  left  alone. 

Then  she  breathed  more  freely  now  that  she  was  tran- 
quil ;  Boniface,  in  his  quality  of  clerk  to  the  procureur  at 
Chatelet,  was  in  the  very  place  to  know  everything,  and 
Bathilde  was  sure  that  Boniface  would  tell  her  everything. 
Indeed,  from  that  time  she  knew  all;  that  Raoul  had  been 
interrogated,  and  that  he  had  taken  everything  on  himself; 
then  the  day  following  she  learned  that  he  had  been  con- 
fronted with  Laval,  Valef,  and  Pompadour,  but  that  inter- 
view had  produced  nothing.  Faithful  to  his  promise, 
Boniface  every  evening  brought  her  the  da3'''s  news,  and 
every  evening  Bathilde  at  this  recital,  alarming  as  it  was, 
felt  inspired  with  new  resolution.  A  fortnight  passed 
thus,  at  the  end  of  which  time  Bathilde  began  to  get  up 
and  walk  a  little  about  the  room,  to  the  great  joy  of 
Buvat;  Nanette;  and  the  whole  Denis  family. 


BONIFACE.  413 

One  day  Boniface,  contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  returned 
home  from  Joullu's  at  three  o'clock,  and  entered  the  room 
of  the  sufferer.  The  poor  boy  was  so  pale  and  so  cast 
down  that  Bathilde  understood  that  he  brought  some 
terrible  information,  and,  giving  a  cry,  she  rose  upright, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

"All  is  finished,  then  ?"  asked  Bathilde. 

"Alas  !  "  answered  Boniface,  "it  is  all  through  his  own 
obstinacy.  They  offered  him  pardon,  —  do  you  under- 
stand, Mademoiselle  Bathilde?  —  his  pardon  if  he  would, 
—  and  he  would  not  speak  a  word." 

"Then,"  cried  Bathilde,  "no  more  hope;  he  is  con- 
demned." 

"This  morning,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  this  morning." 

"To  death?" 

Boniface  bowed  his  head. 

"  And  when  is  he  to  be  executed  ?  " 

"To-morrow  morning  at  eight  o'clock." 

"Very  well,"  said  Bathilde. 

"But  perhaps  there  is  still  hope,"  said  Boniface. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Bathilde. 

"If  even  now  he  would  denounce  his  accomplices." 

The  young  girl  began  to  laugh,  but  so  strangely  that 
Boniface  shuddered  from  head  to  foot. 

"Well,"  said  Boniface,  "who  knows  ?  I,  if  I  was  in  his 
place,  for  example,  should  not  fail  to  do  so;  I  should  say, 
'It  was  not  I,  on  my  honour  it  was  not  I;  it  was  such  a 
one,  and  such  another,  and  so  on.'  " 

"Boniface,  I  must  go  out." 

"  You,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  !  "  cried  Boniface,  terri- 
fied.    "You  go  out  !  why,  it  would  kill  you." 

"I  say  I  must  go  out." 

"But  you  cannot  stand  upright." 

"You  are  wrong,  Boniface,  I  am  strong,  — see." 

And  Bathilde  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with 
a  firm  step. 

"Moreover,"  added  Bathilde,  "you  will  go  and  fetch  a 
coach." 


414  THE   CHEVALIER  D'HARMENTAL. 

"  But,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  —  " 

"Boniface,"  said  the  youtig  girl,  "you  have  promised  to 
obey  me;  till  this  minute  you  have  kept  your  word;  are 
you  getting  lax  in  your  devotion  ?  " 

"I,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde  !  I  lax  in  my  devotion  to 
you.     You  ask  for  a  coach;  I  will  fetch  two." 

"Go,  my  friend,  my  brother,"  said  Bathilde. 

"Oh  !  Mademoiselle  Bathilde,  with  such  words  you  can 
make  me  do  what  you  like.  In  five  minutes  the  coach  will 
be  here." 

And  Boniface  ran  out. 

Bathilde  had  on  a  loose  white  robe;  she  tied  it  in  with 
a  girdle,  threw  a  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and  got  ready. 
As  she  was  advancing  to  the  door  Madame  Denis  entered. 

"Oh,  my  dear  child,  what  in  Heaven's  name  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"Madame,"  said  Bathilde,  "it  is  necessary  that  I  should 
go  out." 

"  Go  out  !  you  are  mad  ?  " 

"No,  madame,"  said  Bathilde,  "I  am  in  perfect  posses 
sion  of  my  senses,  but  you  would  drive  me  mad  by  retain- 
ing me." 

"But  at  least,  where  are  you  going,  my  dear  child  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  he  is  condemned  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  mon  Dieu  !  mon  Dieu  !  who  told  you  that  ?  I 
had  asked  every  one  to  keep  it  from  you." 

"Yes,  and  to-morrow  you  would  have  told  me  that  he 
was  dead,  and  I  should  have  answered,  'You  have  killed 
him,  for  I  had  a  means  of  saving  him  perhaps.'  " 

"  You,  you,  my  child  !  you  have  a  means  of  saving  him  ?  " 

"I  said  perhaps;  let  me  try  the  means;  it  is  the  only 
one  remaining." 

"Go,  my  child,"  said  Madame  Denis,  struck  by  the 
inspired  tone  of  Bathilde's  voice,  "go,  and  may  God  guide 
you  !  " 

Bathilde  went  out,  descended  the  staircase  with  a  slow 
but  firm  step,  crossed  the  street,  ascended  the  four  stories 


BONIFACE.  415 

without  resting,  opened  the  door  of  her  room ,  which  she 
had  not  entered  since  the  day  of  the  catastrophe.  At  the 
noise  which  she  made,  Nanette  came  out  of  the  inner 
room,  and  gave  a  cry  at  seeing  her  young  mistress. 

"Well,"  asked  Bathilde,  in  a  grave  tone,  "what  is  it, 
my  good  Nanette  ?  " 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu!^^  cried  the  poor  woman,  trembling, 
"is  that  really  you,  or  is  it  your  shadow  ?" 

"It  is  I,  Nanette;  I  am  not  yet  dead." 

"  And  why  have  you  left  the  Denis's  house  ?  have  they 
said  anything  to  wound  you  ?  " 

"No,  Nanette,  but  I  have  something  to  do  which  is 
necessary,  —  indispensable." 

"  You  go  out  in  your  present  state  !  you  will  kill  your- 
self. Monsieur  Buvat,  Monsieur  Buvat,  here  is  our  young 
lady  going  out;  come  and  tell  her  that  it  must  not  be." 

Bathilde  turned  towards  Buvat,  with  the  intention  of 
employing  her  ascendency  over  him,  if  he  endeavoured  to 
stop  her,  but  she  saw  him  with  so  sorrowful  a  face  that 
she  did  not  dovibt  that  he  knew  the  fatal  news.  On  his 
part,  Buvat  burst  into  tears  on  seeing  her. 

"My  father,"  said  Bathilde,  "what  has  been  done  to-day 
has  been  the  work  of  men,  what  remains  is  in  the  hands  of 
God,  and  he  will  have  pity  on  us." 

"Oh  !  "  cried  Buvat,  sinking  into  a  chair,  "it  is  I  who 
have  killed  him;   it  is  I  who  have  killed  him." 

Bathilde  went  up  to  him  solemnly  and  kissed  him. 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do,  my  child  ?" 

"My  duty,"  answered  Bathilde. 

She  opened  a  little  cupboard  in  the  prie-dieu,  took  out  a 
black  pocket-book,  opened  it,  and  drew  out  a  letter. 

"You  are  right,  you  are  right,  my  child,  I  had  forgotten 
that  letter." 

"I  remembered  it,"  answered  Bathilde,  kissing  the 
letter,  and  placing  it  next  her  heart,  "for  it  was  the  sole 
inheritance  my  mother  left  me." 

At  that  moment  they  heard  the  noise  of  a  coach  at  the 
door. 


416  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Adieu,  father!  adieu,  Nanette  !    Pray  for  my  success." 

And  Bathilde  went  away,  with  a  solemn  gravity  which 
made  her,  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  watched  her,  almost 
a  saint. 

At  the  door  she  found  lîouiface  waiting  with  a  coach. 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you,  Mademoiselle  Bathilde?  "  asked  he. 

"No,  no,  my  friend,"  said  Bathilde,  "not  nowj  to- 
morrow, perhaps." 

She  entered  the  coach. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  asked  the  coachman. 

"To  the  Arsenal." 


THE   THREE   VISITS.  417 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


THE   THREE    VISITS. 


On  arriving  at  the  Arsenal,  Bathilde  asked  for  Mademoi- 
selle de  Launay,  who,  at  her  request,  led  her  at  once  to 
Madame  du  Maine. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you,  my  child  !  "  said  the  duchess,  with  a 
distracted  air  and  voice;  "it  is  well  to  remember  one's 
friends  when  they  are  in  misfortune." 

"  Alas,  madame  !  "  replied  Bathilde  ;  "  I  come  to  your 
Royal  Highness  to  speak  of  one  still  more  unfortunate. 
Doubtless  you  may  have  lost  some  of  your  titles,  some  of 
your  dignities,  but  their  vengeance  will  stop,  for  no  one 
would  dare  to  attack  the  life,  or  even  the  liberty,  of  the 
son  of  Louis  XIV.,  or  the  granddaughter  of  the  great 
Condé." 

''The  life,  no;  but  the  liberty  I  will  not  answer  for. 
Do  you  know  that  that  idiot  of  an  Abbé  Brigaud  has  got 
arrested  three  days  ago  at  Orleans,  dressed  as  a  pedlar; 
and,  on  false  revelations,  which  they  represented  to  him 
as  coming  from  me,  has  confessed  all,  and  compromised 
us  terribl}^  so  that  I  should  not  be  astonished  at  being 
arrested  this  very  day  ?  " 

"  He  for  whom  I  come  to  implore  your  pity,  madame,  has 
revealed  nothing,  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  condemned  to 
death  for  having  kept  silence." 

"Ah!  my  dear  child,"  cried  the  duchess,  "you  speak  of 
poor  D'Harmental;  he  is  a  gentleman;  you  know  him, 
then  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Mademoiselle  de  Launay,  "  not  only 
Bathilde  knows  him,  but  she  loves  him." 

2? 


418  THE   CHEVALIER   L'lIARMENTAL. 

"Poor  cliild  !  but  what  can  1  do  ?  I  can  do  nothing:  I 
have  no  influence.  For  me  to  attempt  anything  in  his 
favour  would  be  to  take  away  from  him  the  last  hope 
remaining." 

"I  know  it,  madame,"  said  Bathilde,  "and  I  only  ask 
of  your  Highness  one  thing;  it  is,  that,  through  some  of 
your  friends  or  acquaintances,  I  may  gain  admission  to 
monseigneur  the  regent.     The  rest  lies  with  me." 

"  My  child,  do  you  know  what  you  are  asking  ?  "  in- 
quired the  duchess.  "Do  you  know  that  the  regent 
respects  no  one?  Do  you  know  —  that  you  are  beautiful 
as  an  angel,  and  still  more  so  from  your  present  paleness  ? 
Do  you  know  —  " 

"Madame,"  said  Bathilde,  with  dignity,  "I  know  that 
my  father  saved  his  life,  and  died  in  his  service." 

"Ah,  that  is  another  thing,"  said  the  duchess;  "stay, 
De  Launay,  call  Malezieux." 

Mademoiselle  de  Launay  obeyed,  and  a  moment  after- 
wards the  faithful  chancellor  entered. 

"Malezieux,"  said  the  duchess,  "you  must  take  this 
child  to  the  Duchess  de  Berry,  with  a  recommendation 
from  me.  She  must  see  the  regent,  and  at  once;  the  life 
of  a  man  depends  upon  it,  —  it  is  that  of  D'Harmental, 
whom  I  would  myself  give  so  much  to  save." 

"I  go,  madame,"  said  Malezieux. 

"You  see,  my  child,"  said  the  duchess,  "I  do  all  I  can 
for  you;  if  I  can  be  useful  to  you  in  any  other  way,  —  if, 
to  prepare  his  flight,  or  to  seduce  a  jailer,  money  is 
needed,  T  have  still  some  diamonds,  which  cannot  be  better 
employed  than  in  saving  the  life  of  so  brave  a  gentleman. 
Come,  lose  no  time;  go  at  once  to  my  niece;  you  know 
that  she  is  her  father's  favourite." 

"I  know,  madame,"  said  Bathilde,  "that  you  are  an 
angel,  and,  if  I  succeed,  I  shall  owe  you  more  than  my 
life." 

"Come,  De  Launay,"  continued  Madame  du  Maine, 
when  Bathilde  was  gone,  "let  us  return  to  our  trunks." 


THE   THREE   VISITS.  419 

Bathilde,  accompanied  by  Malezieux,  arrived  at  the 
Luxembourg  in  twenty  minutes.  Thanks  to  Malezieux, 
Bathilde  entered  without  difficulty;  she  was  conducted 
into  a  little  boudoir,  where  she  was  told  to  wait  while  the 
chancellor  should  see  her  Royal  Highness,  and  inform  her 
of  the  favour  they  came  to  ask. 

Malezieux  acquitted  himself  of  the  commission  with 
zeal,  and  Bathilde  had  not  waited  ten  minutes  when  she 
saw  him  return  with  the  Duchesse  de  Berry.  The  duchess 
had  an  excellent  heart,  and  she  had  been  greatly  moved 
by  Malezieux's  recital,  so  that,  when  she  appeared,  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  interest  she  already  felt  in  the 
young  girl  who  came  to  solicit  her  protection.  Bathilde 
came  to  her,  and  would  have  fallen  at  her  feet,  but  the 
duchess  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  kissing  her  on  the 
forehead,  — 

"My  poor  child,"  said  she,  "why  did  you  not  come  to 
me  a  week  ago  ?  " 

"  And  why  a  week  ago  rather  than  to-day,  madame  ?  " 
asked  Bathilde,  with  anxiety. 

"Because  a  week  ago  I  should  have  yielded  to  none  the 
pleasure  of  taking  you  to  my  father,  and  that  now  is 
impossible." 

"  Impossible  !  and  why  ?  "  cried  Bathilde. 

"Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  in  complete  disgrace  since 
the  day  before  yesterday?  Alas  !  princess  as  I  am,  I  am 
a  woman  like  you,  and  like  you  I  have  had  the  misfortune 
to  love.  We  daughters  of  the  royal  race,  you  know,  may 
not  dispose  of  our  hearts  without  the  authority  of  the  king 
and  his  ministers.  I  have  disposed  of  my  heart,  and  I 
have  nothing  to  say,  for  I  was  pardoned  ;  but  I  disposed  of 
my  hand,  and  I  am  punished.  See  what  a  strange  thing  ! 
They  make  a  crime  of  what  in  any  one  else  would  have 
been  praised.  For  three  days  my  lover  has  been  my  hus- 
band, and  for  three  days  that  is  to  say,  from  the  moment 
when  I  could  present  myself  before  my  father  without 
blushing,    I  am   forbidden  his  presence.     Yesterday  my 


420  THF.   CIIEVALIUU   D'HARMENTAL. 

guard  was  taken  from  me;  this  morning  I  presented  my* 
self  at  the  Palais  Koyal  and  was  refused  admittance.'' 

*'Alas!"  said  Bathilde,  "I  am  unhappy,  for  I  had  no 
hope  but  in  you,  madame,  and  I  know  no  one  who  can 
introduce  me  to  the  regent.  And  it  is  to-morrow,  madame, 
at  eight  o'clock,  that  they  will  kill  him  whom  I  love  as 
you  love  Monsieur  de  Riom.  Oh,  madame,  take  pity  on 
me,  for  if  you  do  not,  I  am  lost  !  " 

^^ Mon  Dieu!  Riom,  come  to  our  aid,"  said  the  duchess, 
turning  to  her  husband,  who  entered  at  this  moment; 
"  here  is  a  poor  child  who  wants  to  see  ray  father  directly, 
without  delay;  her  life  depends  on  the  interview.  Her 
life  !  What  am  I  saying  ?  More  than  her  life,  — the  life 
of  a  man  she  loves.  Lauzun's  nephew  should  never  be  at 
a  loss  ;  find  us  a  means,  and,  if  it  be  possible,  I  will  love 
i^ou  more  than  ever." 

"I  have  one,"  said  Riom,  smiling. 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  cried  Bathilde,  "tell  it  me,  and  I  will 
^e  eternally  grateful." 

"  Oh,  speak  !  "  said  the  Duchesse  de  Berry,  in  a  voice 
*^.lmost  as  pressing  as  Bathilde's. 

"But  it  compromises  your  sister  singularly." 

"  Which  one  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  de  Vaiois." 

"  Aglae  !  how  so  ?  " 

"Do  you  not  know  that  there  exists  a  kind  of  sorcerer, 
tvho  has  the  power  of  appearing  before  her  day  or  night, 
no  one  knows  how  ?  " 

"Richelieu  ?  it  is  true  !  "  cried  the  Duchesse  de  Berry; 
"but  —  " 

"  But  what,  madame  ?  " 

"He  will  not,  perhaps  —  " 

"I  will  beg  him  so  that  he  will  take  pity  on  me,"  said 
Bathilde;  "besides,  you  will  speak  a  word  for  me,  will 
you  not  ?  He  will  not  dare  to  refuse  what  your  Highness 
asks." 

"We  will    do    better    than  that,"   said   the  duchess. 


THE   THREE   VISITS.  421 

"Riom,  call  Madame  de  Mouchy,  beg  her  to  take  made- 
moiselle herself  to  the  duke.  Madame  de  Mouchy  is  my 
first  lady  in  waiting,"  said  the  duchess,  turning  to  Ba- 
thilde,  "  and  it  is  supposed  that  the  Due  de  Richelieu  owes 
her  some  gratitude.  You  see,  I  could  not  choose  you  a 
better  introductress." 

*'0h,  thanks,  madame,"  cried  Bathilde,  kissing  the 
duchess's  hands,  "you  are  right,  and  all  hope  is  not  yet 
lost.  And  you  say  that  the  Due  de  Richelieu  has  a  means 
of  entering  the  Palais  Royal  ?  " 

"  Stay,  let  us  understand  each  other.  I  do  not  say  so  ; 
report  says  so." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Bathilde,  "  if  we  only  find  him  at  home  !  " 

"That  is  a  chance;  but  yet,  let  me  see,  what  time  is  it  ? 
scarcely  eight  o'clock.  He  will  probably  sup  in  town,  and 
return  to  dress.  I  will  tell  Madame  de  Mouchy  to  wait 
for  him  with  you.  Will  you  not,"  said  she,  turning  to  the 
lady  in  waiting,  who  now  entered,  "wait  for  the  duke  till 
he  returns  ?  " 

"I  will  do  whatever  your  Highness  orders,"  said  Madame 
de  Mouchy. 

"  Well,  I  order  you  to  obtain  from  the  Due  de  Richelieu 
a  promise  that  mademoiselle  shall  see  the  regent,  and  I 
authorise  you  to  use,  for  this  purpose,  whatever  influence 
you  may  possess  over  him." 

"Madame  goes  a  long  way,"  said  Madame  de  Mouchy, 
smiling. 

"Never  mind,  go  and  do  what  I  tell  you;  and  you,  my 
child,  take  courage,  follow  madame,  and  if,  on  your  road 
in  life,  you  hear  much  harm  of  the  Duchesse  de  Berry, 
whom  they  anathematise,  tell  them  that  I  have  a  good 
heart,  and  that,  in  spite  of  all  these  excommunications,  I 
hope  that  much  will  be  forgiven  me,  because  I  have  loved 
much.     Is  it  not  so,  Riom  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,  madame,"  said  Bathilde,  "whether  you 
are  well  or  ill  spoken  of,  but  I  know  that  to  me  you  seem 
so  good  and  great  that  I  could  kiss  the  trace  of  your 
footsteps." 


422  THE   CHEVALIER   d'HARMENTAL. 

"Now  go,  my  child;  if  you  miss  Monsieur  de  Richelieu 
you  may  not  know  where  to  lind  him,  and  may  wait  for 
him  uselessly." 

"Since  her  Highness  permits  it,  come  then,  madame," 
said  Bathilde,  "for  every  minute  seems  to  me  an  age." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  Bathilde  and  Madame 
de  Mouchy  were  at  Itichelieu's  hotel.  Contrary  to  all 
expectation ,  he  was  at  home.  Madame  de  Mouchy  entered 
at  once,  followed  by  Bathilde.  They  found  Kichelieu 
occupied  with  Kaffé,  his  secretary,  in  burning  a  number  of 
useless  letters,  and  putting  some  others  aside. 

"Well,  madame,"  said  Kichelieu,  coming  forward  with 
a  smile  on  his  lips,  "what  good  wind  blows  you  here? 
And  to  what  event  do  I  owe  the  happiness  of  receiving 
you  at  my  house  at  half-past  eight  in  the  evening  ?  " 

"To  my  wish  to  enable  you  to  do  a  good  action,  duke." 

"In  that  case,  make  haste,  madame." 

"Do  you  leave  Paris  this  evening  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  am  going  to-morrow  morning  —  to  the 
Bastille." 

"  What  joke  is  this  ?  " 

"I  assure  you  it  is  no  joke  at  all  to  leave  my  hotel, 
where  I  am  very  comfortable,  for  that  of  the  king,  where 
I  shall  be  just  the  reverse.  I  know  it,  for  this  will  be  my 
third  visit." 

"  What  makes  you  think  you  will  be  arrested  to-morrow  ?  " 

"I  have  been  warned." 

"  By  a  sure  person  ?  " 

"Judge  for  yourself." 

And  he  handed  a  letter  to  Madame  de  Mouchy,  who  took 
it  and  read,  — 

"Innocent  or  guilty,  you  have  only  time  to  fly.  The 
regent  has  just  said  aloud  before  me  that  at  last  he  has  got 
the  Due  de  Richelieu.     To-morrow  you  will  be  arrested." 

"Do  you  think  the  person  in  a  position  to  be  well 
informed  ?  " 

"Yes,  for  I  think  I   recognise  the  writing.     You  see, 


THE    THREE    VISITS.  423 

then,  that  I  was  right  in  telling  you  to  make  haste.  Now, 
if  it  is  a  thing  which  may  be  doue  in  the  space  of  a  night, 
speak,  I  am  at  your  orders." 

"An  hour  will  suffice." 

"Speak,  then;  you  know  I  can  refuse  you  nothing." 

"Well,"  said  Madame  de  Ivlouchy,  "the  thing  is  told  in 
a  few  words.  Do  you  intend  this  evening  to  go  and  thank 
the  person  who  gave  you  this  advice  ?  " 

"Probably,"  said  the  duke,  laughing. 

"Well,  you  must  present  mademoiselle  to  her." 

"  Mademoiselle  !  "  cried  the  duke,  astonished,  and  turn- 
ing towards  Bathilde,  who  till  then  had  remained  hidden 
in  the  darkness,  "  and  who  is  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"A  young  girl  who  loves  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental, 
who  is  to  be  executed  to-morrow,  as  you  know,  and  whose 
pardon  she  wishes  to  ask  from  the  regent." 

"You  love  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental,  mademoiselle  ?" 
said  the  duke,  addressing  Bathilde. 

"  Oh,  monsieur  !  "  stammered  Bathilde,  blushing. 

"  Do  not  conceal  it,  mademoiselle.  He  is  a  noble  young 
man,  and  I  would  give  ten  years  of  my  own  life  to  save 
him.  And  do  you  think  you  have  any  means  of  interest- 
ing the  regent  in  his  favour  ?  " 

"I  believe  so." 

"It  is  well.  I  only  hope  it  may  be  so.  Madame,"  con- 
tinued the  duke,  turning  to  Madame  de  Mouchy,  "  return 
to  her  Koyal  Highness  and  tell  her  that  mademoiselle 
shall  see  the  regent  in  an  hour." 

"Oh,  Monsieur  le  Duc  !"  cried  Bathilde. 

"Decidedly,  my  dear  Richelieu,  I  begin  to  think,  as 
people  say,  that  you  have  made  a  compact  with  the  devil  ; 
that  you  may  pass  through  keyholes,  and  I  confess  I  shall 
be  less  uneasy  now  in  seeing  you  go  to  the  Bastille." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  know,  madame,  that  charity  teaches 
us  to  visit  prisoners,  and  if  you  retain  any  recollection  of 
poor  Armand  —  " 

"Silence,  duke,  be  discreet,  and  we  will  see  what  can 


424  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

be  done  for  you.  Meanwhile,  you  promise  that  made- 
moiselle shall  see  the  regent  ?  " 

"It  is  a  settled  thing." 

"Adieu,  duke,  and  may  the  Bastille  be  easy  to  you." 

"  Is  it  adieu  you  say  ?  " 

"  Au  revoir  !  " 

"That  is  right." 

And,  having  kissed  Madame  de  Mouchy's  hand,  he  led 
her  to  the  door;  then,  returning  to  Bathilde:  — 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "what  I  am  about  to  do  for 
you  compromises  the  reputation  and  honour  of  a  princess 
of  the  blood,  but  the  gravity  of  the  occasion  demands  some 
sacrifice.  Swear  to  me,  then,  that  you  will  never  tell,  but 
to  one  person,  —  for  I  know  there  are  persons  from  whom 
you  have  no  secrets,  — swear  that  you  will  never  tell  any 
but  him,  and  that  no  other  shall  ever  know  in  what  manner 
you  came  to  the  regent." 

"Monsieur,  I  swear  it  by  all  I  hold  most  sacred  in  the 
world,  — by  my  mother's  memory." 

"That  will  suffice,"  said  the  duke,  ringing  a  bell.  A 
valet  de  chambre  entered. 

"Lafosse,"  said  the  duke,  "the  bay  horses  and  the 
carriage  without  arms." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Bathilde,  "if  you  would  save  time,  I 
have  a  hired  carriage  below." 

"That  is  still  better.  I  am  at  your  orders,  mademoi- 
selle." 

"  Am  I  to  go  with  monsieur  ?  "  asked  the  servant. 

"No,  stay  and  help  Raffé  to  put  these  papers  in  order. 
There  are  several  which  it  is  quite  unnecessary  for  Dubois 
to  see." 

And  the  duke  offered  his  arm  to  Bathilde,  went  down, 
handed  her  into  the  carriage,  and,  after  telling  the  coach- 
man to  stop  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint  Honoré  and  the 
Rue  de  Richelieu,  placed  himself  by  her  side,  as  thought- 
less as  though  the  fate  from  which  he  was  about  to  save 
the  chevalier  might  not  also  await  himself. 


THE  CLOSET.  425 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


THE    CLOSET. 


The  carriage  stopped  at  its  destination,  and  Richelieu, 
getting  out  and  taking  a  key  from  his  pocket,  opened  the 
door  of  a  house  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Richelieu. 

"I  must  ask  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  duke, 
offering  his  arm  to  Bathilde,  "for  leading  you  by  badly 
lighted  staircases  and  passages;  but  I  am  anxious  not  to 
be  recognised,  should  any  one  meet  me  here.  We  have 
not  far  to  go." 

Bathilde  had  counted  about  twenty  steps,  when  the  duke 
stopped,  drew  a  second  key  from  his  pocket,  and  opened  a 
door,  then  entered  an  antechamber  and  lighted  a  candle 
at  a  lamp  on  the  staircase. 

"Once  again  1  must  ask  pardon,  mademoiselle,"  said 
the  duke,  "but  you  will  soon  understand  why  1  chose  to 
dispense  with  a  servant  here." 

It  mattered  little  to  Bathilde  whether  the  duke  had  a 
servant  or  not;  she  entered  the  antechamber  without 
replying,  and  the  duke  locked  the  door  behind  her. 

"Xow  follow  me,"  said  the  duke;  and  he  walked  before 
the  young  girl,  lighting  her  with  the  candle  which  he  held 
in  his  hand.  They  crossed  a  dining-room  and  drawing- 
room,  then  entererd  a  bedroom,  where  the  duke  stopped. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Richelieu,  placing  the  candle  on 
the  chimney-piece,  "  I  have  your  word  that  you  will  reveal 
nothing  of  what  you  are  about  to  see." 

"I  have  given  you  my  promise,  and  I  now  renew  it;  I 
should  be  ungrateful  indeed  if  I  were  to  fail." 

"  Well,  then,  be  the  third  in  our  secret,  which  is  one  of 
love;  we  put  it  under  the  safeguard  of  love." 


426  TlIK    GHEVALIKlt    J)'J1AUMENTAL. 

And  tlie  Due  de  Riehelieu,  sliding  away  a  panel  in  the 
woodwork,  diseovered  an  opening  in  the  wall,  beyond 
which  was  the  back  of  a  closet,  and  he  knocked  soi'tly 
three  times,  l^resently  they  heard  a  key  turn  in  the  lock, 
then  saw  a  light  between  the  planks,  then  a  low  voice 
asked,  "  Is  it  you  ?  "  On  the  duke's  replying  in  the 
affirmative,  three  of  tliese  planks  were  quietly  detached, 
opening  a  means  of  communication  from  one  room  to  the 
other,  and  the  duke  and  Bathilde  found  themselves  in  the 
presence  of  Mademoiselle  de  Valois,  who  uttered  a  cry  on 
seeing  her  lover  accompanied  by  a  woman. 

"Fear  nothing,  dear  Aglae,"  said  the  duke,  passing  into 
the  room  where  she  was,  and  taking  her  hand,  while  Ba- 
thilde remained  motionless  in  her  place,  not  daring  to  move 
a  step  till  her  presence  was  explained. 

"But  will  you  tell  me  ?"  began  Mademoiselle  de  Valois, 
looking  at  Bathilde  uneasily. 

"  Directly.  You  have  heard  me  speak  of  the  Chevalier 
d'Harmental,  have  you  not  ?" 

"  The  day  before  yesterday  you  told  me  that  by  a  word 
he  might  save  his  own  life  and  compromise  you  all,  but 
that  he  would  never  speak  this  word." 

"Well,  he  has  not  spoken,  and  he  is  condemnea  to 
death,  and  is  to  be  executed  to-morrow.  This  young  girl 
loves  him,  and  his  pardon  depends  on  the  regent.  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Mademoiselle  de  Valois. 

"Come,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  duke  to  Bathilde, 
taking  her  by  the  hand  ;  then,  turning  again  to  the  prin- 
cess, "  She  did  not  know  how  to  reach  your  father,  my 
dear  Aglae,  and  came  to  me  just  as  I  had  received  your 
letter.  I  had  to  thank  you  for  the  good  advice  you  gave 
me;  and,  as  I  know  your  heart,  I  thought  I  should  please 
you  by  showing  my  gratitude  in  offering  you  an  opportunity 
to  save  the  life  of  a  man  to  whose  silence  you  probably 
ewe  my  own." 

"And  you  were  right,  duke.  You  are  welcome,  made- 
moiselle.    What  can  T  do  for  you  ?  " 


iiiilllBIIIIWIIIIIillil  Jiiiiii|il||M| 


Batiiilde  nx  tier  Way  to  the  Recjent. 


THE    CLOSET.  427 

"I  wish  to  see  the  regent,"  said  Bathilde,  ''and  your 
Highness  can  take  me  to  him." 

"  Will  you  wait  for  me,  duke  ?  "  asked  Mademoiselle  de 
Valois,  uneasily. 

"Can  you  doubt  it?" 

"Then  go  into  the  closet,  lest  any  one  should  surprise 
you  here.  I  will  take  mademoiselle  to  my  father,  and 
return  directly." 

"I  will  wait,"  said  the  duke,  following  the  instructions 
of  the  princess  and  entering  the  closet.  Mademoiselle  de 
Valois  exchanged  some  low  words  with  her  lover,  locked 
the  closet,  put  the  key  in  her  pocket,  and,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  Bathilde,  — 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "all  women  who  love  are 
sisters;  Armand  and  you  did  well  to  rely  upon  me;  come." 

Bathilde  kissed  the  hand  she  held  out,  and  followed  her. 
They  passed  through  all  the  rooms  facing  the  Palais 
Royal,  and'  then,  turning  to  the  left,  entered  those  which 
looked  on  the  Rue  de  Valois,  amongst  which  was  the 
regent's  bedroom. 

"  We  have  arrived,  "  said  Mademoiselle  de  Valois,  stop- 
ping before  a  door  and  turning  to  Bathilde,  who,  at  this 
news  trembled  and  turned  pale;  for  all  the  strength  which 
had  sustained  her  for  the  last  three  or  four  hours  was 
ready  to  disappear  just  as  she  needed  it  the  most. 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  I  shall  never  dare  to  speak,"  said 
Bathilde. 

"Courage,  mademoiselle  !  enter,  fall  at  his  feet,  God 
and  his  own  heart  will  do  the  rest." 

At  these  words,  seeing  that  the  young  girl  still  hesi- 
tated, she  opened  the  door,  pushed  Bathilde  in,  and  closed 
it  behind  her.  She  then  ran  down  with  a  light  step  to 
rejoin  Richelieu,  leaving  Bathilde  to  plead  her  cause  tête- 
à-tête  with  the  regent. 

At  this  unforeseen  action,  Bathilde  uttered  a  low  cr}', 
and  the  regent,  who  was  walking  to  and  fro  with  his  head 
bent  down,  raised  it,   and  turned  towards  Bathilde,  who, 


428  THE   CHEVALIER    D'HAKMENTAL. 

incapable  of  making  a  stop  in  advance,  fell  on  her  knees, 
drew  out  her  letter,  and  held  it  towards  the  regent.  The 
regent  had  bad  sight;  lie  did  not  understand  what  was 
going  on,  and  advanced  towards  this  woman,  who  appeared 
to  him  in  the  shade  as  a  white  and  indistinct  form;  but 
soon  in  that  form  he  recognised  a  woman,  and  in  that 
woman  a  young,  beautiful,  and  kneeling  girl. 

As  to  the  poor  child,  in  vain  she  attem})tcd  to  articulate 
a  ])rayer.  Voice  and  strength  failing  her  together,  she 
would  have  fallen  if  the  regent  had  not  held  her  in  his 
arms. 

"3Ion  Dieu/  mademoiselle,"  said  the  regent,  on  whom 
the  signs  of  grief  produced  their  ordinary  effect,  "  what  is 
the  matter  ?  What  can  I  do  for  you?  Come  to  this  couch, 
I  beg." 

"No,  monseigneur,  it  is  at  your  feet  that  I  should  be, 
for  I  come  to  ask  a  boon." 

"And  what  is  it?" 

"  See  first  who  I  am,  monseigneur,  and  then  I  may  dare 
to  speak." 

And  again  Bathilde  held  out  the  letter,  on  which  rested 
her  only  hope,  to  the  Due  d'Orléans. 

The  regent  took  the  letter,  and,  by  the  light  of  a  candle 
which  burnt  on  the  chimney-piece,  recognised  his  own 
writing,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

Madame,  —  Your  husband  has  died  for  France  and  for  me.  Nei- 
ther France  nor  I  can  give  you  back  your  husband  ;  but  remember 
that,  if  ever  you  are  in  want  of  anything,  we  are  both  your  debtors. 

Your  affectionate 

Philippe  d'Orléans. 

"I  recognise  this  letter  perfectly  as  being  my  own," 
said  the  regent,  "  but  to  the  shame  of  my  memory  I  must 
confess  that  I  do  not  know  to  whom  it  was  written." 

"Look  at  the  address,  monseigneur,"  said  Bathilde,  a 
little  reassured  by  the  expression  of  benevolence  on  the 
duke's  face. 


THE   CLOSET.  429 

"Clarice  du  Eocher,"  cried  the  regent,  "yes,  indeed,  I 
remember  now;  I  wrote  this  letter  from  Spain  after  the 
death  of  Albert,  who  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Almanza. 
I  wrote  this  letter  to  his  widow.  How  did  it  fall  into 
your  hands,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"Alas,  monseigneur,  I  am  the  daughter  of  Albert  and 
Clarice." 

"You,  mademoiselle  !  And  what  has  become  of  your 
mother  ?  " 

"She  is  dead." 

"  Long  since  ?  " 

"Nearly  fourteen  years." 

"But  happy,  doubtless,  and  wanting  nothing." 

"In  despair,  monseigneur,  and  wanting  everything." 

"  But  why  did  she  not  apply  to  me  ?  " 

"Your  Highness  was  still  in  Spain." 

"  Oh  !  vion  Dieu  !  what  do  you  say  ?  Continue,  made- 
moiselle, for  you  cannot  tell  how  much  you  interest  me. 
Poor  Clarice,  poor  Albert,  they  loved  each  other  so  much,  I 
remember.  She  could  not  survive  him.  Do  you  know  that 
your  father  saved  my  life  at  Nerwinden,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"Yes,  monseigneur,  I  know  it,  and  that  gave  me  courage 
to  present  myself  before  you." 

"But  you,  poor  child,  poor  orphan,  what  became  of 
you  ?  " 

"I,  monseigneur,  was  taken  by  a  friend  of  our  family, 
a  poor  writer  called  Jean  Buvat." 

"  Jean  Buvat  !  "  cried  the  regent,  "  I  know  that  name  ; 
he  is  the  poor  copyist  who  discovered  the  whole  con- 
spiracy, and  who  some  days  ago  made  his  demands  in 
person.  A  place  in  the  library,  was  it  not,  some  arrears 
due  ?  " 

"The  same,  monseigneur." 

"Mademoiselle,"  replied  the  regent,  "it  appears  that 
those  who  surround  you  are  destined  to  save  me.  I  am 
thus  twice  your  debtor.  You  said  you  had  a  boon  to  ask 
of  me;  speak  boldly,  I  listen  to  you." 


430  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  "  murmured  Bathilde,  "  give  me  strength." 

"Is  it,  then,  a  very  important  and  difficult  thing  that 
you  desire  ?  " 

"Monseigneur,"  said  Bathilde,  "it  is  the  life  of  aman 
who  has  deserved  death." 

"Is  it  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental  ?" 

"Alas,  monseigneur,  it  is." 

The  regent's  brow  became  pensive,  while  Bathilde, 
seeing  the  imiDression  produced  by  her  demand,  felt  her 
heart  beat  and  her  knees  tremble. 

"Is  he  your  relation,  your  ally,  your  friend  ?" 

"He  is  my  life,  he  is  my  soul,  monseigneur;  I  love 
him." 

"But  do  you  know  that  if  I  pardon  him  I  must  pardon 
all  the  rest,  and  that  there  are  some  still  more  guilty  than 
he  is?" 

"His  life  only,  monseigneur;  all  I  ask  is  that  he  may 
live." 

"  But  if  I  change  his  sentence  to  a  perpetual  imprison- 
ment you  will  never  see  him  again.  What  would  become 
of  you,  then  ?  "  asked  the  regent. 

Bathilde  was  obliged  to  suj^port  herself  by  the  back  of 
a  chair. 

"  I  would  enter  into  a  convent,  where  I  could  pray  the 
rest  of  my  life  for  you,  monseigneur,  and  for  him." 

"That  cannot  be,"  said  the  regent. 

"  Why  not,  monseigneur  ?  " 

"Because  this  very  day,  this  very  hour,  I  have  been 
asked  for  your  hand,  and  have  promised  it." 

"You  have  promised  my  hand,  monseigneur;  and  to 
whom  ?  " 

"Read,"  said  the  regent,  taking  an  open  letter  from  his 
desk,  and  presenting  it  to  the  young  girl. 

"Raoul's  writing!"  cried  Bathilde;  "what  does  this 
mean  ?" 

^'Read,"  repeated  the  regent. 

A.nd,  in  a  choking  voice,  Bathilde  read  the  following 
letter  :  — 


THE   CLOSET.  431 

Monseigneur,  —  I  have  deserved  death:  T  know  it,  and  T  do 
not  ask  yon  for  Hfe.  I  am  ready  to  die  at  the  day  and  hour  a[)- 
pointed  ;  but  it  depends  on  your  Highness  to  make  this  death  sweeter 
to  me.  I  love  a  young  girl  whom  1  should  have  married  if  I  had 
lived;  grant  that  she  may  be  my  wife  before  1  die.  In  leaving  her 
for  ever  alone  and  friendless  in  the  world,  let  me  at  least  have  the 
consolation  of  giving  her  the  safeguard  of  my  name  and  fortune.  On 
leaving  the  ohureh,  monseigneur,  I  will  walk  to  the  scaffold.  This  is 
my  last  wish,  my  sole  desire.  Do  not  refuse  the  prayer  of  a  dying 
man. 

Raoul  d'Harmental. 

"Oh,  monseigneur,"  said  Bathilde,  sobbing,  "you  see 
that  while  I  thought  of  him,  he  tliought  of  rae.  Am  I  not 
right  to  love  him,  when  he  loves  me  so  much  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  regent,  "and  I  grant  his  request,  it  is 
just;  may  it,  as  he  says,  sweeten  his  last  moments." 

"Monseigneur,"  cried  the  young  girl,  "is  that  all  you 
grant  him  ?  " 

"You  see,"  said  the  regent,  "he  is  just;  he  asks  nothing 
else." 

"Oh,  it  is  cruel  !  it  is  frightful  !  to  see  him  again,  and 
lose  him  directly;  his  life,  monseigneur,  his  life,  I  beg  ! 
and  let  me  never  see  him  again,  —  better  so." 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  regent,  in  a  tone  which  ad 
mitted  of  no  reply,  and  writing  some  lines  on  a  papei 
which  he  sealed,  "here  is  a  letter  to  Monsieur  de  Launay, 
the  governor  of  the  Bastille;  it  contains  my  instructions 
with  regard  to  the  prisoner.  My  captain  of  the  guards 
will  go  with  you,  and  see  that  my  instructions  are 
followed." 

"Oh  !  his  life,  monseigneur,  his  life;  on  my  knees,  ana 
in  the  name  of  Heaven,  I  implore  you." 

The  regent  rang  the  bell;  a  valet  entered. 

"Call  Monsieur  the  Marquis  de  Lafare,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  monsieur,  you  are  cruel,"  said  Bathilde,  rising-, 
"at  least  permit  me  then  to  die  with  him.  We  will  not 
be  separated,  even  on  the  scaffold;  we  will  be  together, 
even  in  the  tomb." 


432  THE   CHEVALIER   D'HARMENTAL. 

"Monsieur  de  Lafare,  accompany  mademoiselle  to  the 
Bastille,"  said  the  regent.  "Here  is  a  letter  for  Monsieur 
de  Launay,  read  it  with  him,  and  see  that  the  orders  it 
contains  are  punctually  executed." 

Then,  without  listening  to  Bathilde's  last  cry  of  despair, 
the  Due  d'Orléans  opened  the  door  of  a  closet  and  dis- 
appeared. 


THE   MAKKIAUE    IN    EXTREMIS.  433 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE   MARRIAGE    IN   EXTREMIS. 

Lafabe  dragged  the  young  girl  away,  almost  fainting,  and 
placed  her  in  one  of  the  carriages  always  standing  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  Palais  Royal.  During  the  route  Bathilde 
did  not  speak;  she  was  cold,  dumb,  and  inanimate  as  a 
statue.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  and  tearless,  but  on  arriving 
at  the  fortress  she  started.  She  fancied  she  had  seen  in 
the  shade,  in  the  very  place  where  the  Chevalier  de  Rohan 
"was  executed,  something  like  a  scaffold.  A  little  farther 
a  sentinel  cried,  ^^  Qui  vive/"  the  carriage  rolled  over  a 
drawbridge,  and  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  governor's 
house.  A  footman  out  of  livery  opened  the  door,  and 
Lafare  gave  Bathilde  his  arm;  she  could  scarcely  stand; 
all  her  strength  had  left  her  when  hope  left  her.  Lafare 
and  the  valet  were  obliged  almost  to  carry  her  to  the  first 
floor.  Monsieur  de  Launay  was  at  supper.  They  took 
Bathilde  into  a  room  to  wait,  while  Lafare  went  directly 
to  the  governor.  Ten  minutes  passed,  during  which  Ba- 
thilde had  only  one  idea,  —  that  of  the  eternal  separation 
which  awaited  her.  The  poor  girl  saw  but  one  thing,  — 
her  lover  on  the  scaffold.  Lafare  re-entered  with  the 
governor.  Bathilde  looked  at  them  with  a  bewildered  air. 
Lafare  approached  her,  and  offering  her  his  arm,  — 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "the  church  is  prepared,  the 
priest  is  ready." 

Bathilde,  without  replying,  rose  and  leant  on  the  arm 
which  was  offered  her.  Monsieur  de  Launay  went  first, 
lighted  by  two  men  bearing  torches. 

As  Bathilde  entered  by  one  of  the  side  doors,  she  saw 
entering  by  the  other  the  Chevalier  d'Harmental,  accom- 

28 


434  TUF,    CHEVALIER   D'IIARMENTAL. 

panied  by  Valef  and  Vompadour.  These  were  his  witnesses, 
as  De  Launay  and  La  are  were  hers.  Each  door  was  kept 
by  two  of  the  Frenci.  guard,  silent  and  motionless  as 
statues. 

The  two  lovers  advanced,  lîathilde  pale  and  fainting, 
Raoul  calm  and  smiling.  On  arriving  before  tlie  altai-, 
the  chevalier  took  Bathilde's  hand,  and  both  fell  on  their 
knees,  without  having  spoken  a  word. 

The  altar  was  lighted  only  by  four  wax  tapers,  which 
threw  a  funereal  light  over  the  chapel,  already  dark,  and 
filled  with  gloomy  recollections. 

The  priest  commenced  the  ceremony;  he  was  a  fine  old 
man  with  white  hair,  and  whose  melancholy  countenance 
showed  the  traces  of  his  daily  functions.  He  had  been 
chaplain  of  the  Bastille  for  five  and  twenty  years,  and  had 
heard  many  sad  confessions,  and  seen  many  lamentable 
events.  He  spoke  to  them,  not,  as  usual,  of  their  duties 
as  husband  and  wife,  but  of  divine  inercy  and  eternal 
resurrection.  At  the  benediction  Bathilde  laid  her  head 
on  Raoul's  shoulder;  the  priest  thought  she  was  fainting, 
and  stopped. 

"Finish,  my  father,"  murmured  Bathilde. 

The  priest  pronounced  the  sacramental  words,  to  which 
both  replied  by  a  "yes,"  which  seemed  to  unite  the  whole 
strength  of  their  souls.  The  ceremony  finished,  D'Har- 
mental  asked  Monsieur  de  Launay  if  he  might  spend  his 
few  remaining  hours  with  his  wife.  Monsieur  de  Launay 
replied  that  there  was  no  objection.  Raoul  embraced 
Pompadour  and  Valef,  thanked  them  for  having  served  as 
witnesses  at  his  marriage,  pressed  Lafare's  hand,  thanked 
Monsieur  de  Launay  for  his  kindness  to  him  during  his 
imprisonment,  and,  throwing  his  arm  round  Bathilde, 
led  her  away  by  the  door  through  which  he  had  entered. 
When  they  reached  D'Harmental's  room,  Bathilde  could 
no  longer  contain  her  tears,  a  despairing  cry  escaped  her 
lips,  and  she  fell  weeping  on  a  chair,  where  doubtless 
D'Harmental  had  often  sat,  during  the  three  weeks  of  his 


THE   MARRIAGE   IN   EXTREMIS.  43o 

captivity,  and  thought  of  her.  llaoul  threw  himself  at 
her  feet,  and  tried  to  console  her,  but  was  himself  so  much 
moved  by  her  grief  that  his  own  tears  mingled  with  hers. 
This  heart  of  iron  melted  in  its  turn,  and  Bathilde  felt  at 
once  on  her  lips  the  tears  and  kisses  of  her  lover.  They 
had  been  about  half  an  hour  together  when  they  heard 
steps  a|)proaching  the  dour,  and  a  key  turning  in  the  lock. 
Bathilde  started,  and  pressed  D'Harmental  convulsively 
against  her  heart,  llaoul  understood  the  dreadful  fear 
which  crossed  her  mind,  and  reassured  her.  It  could  not 
be  what  she  dreaded,  since  the  execution  was  fixed  for 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  eleven  had  only  just 
struck. 

It  was  Monsieur  de  Launay  who  appeared. 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  he,  "have  the  kindness  to 
follow  me." 

"  Alone  ?  "  asked  D'Harmental,  clasping  Bathilde  in 
his  arms. 

"No,  with  madame,"  replied  the  governor. 

"  Oh  !  together,  Raoul,  together  !  "  cried  Bathilde, 
"where  they  like,  so  that  we  are  together.  We  are  ready, 
monsieur,  we  are  ready." 

Raoul  kissed  Bathilde  again;  then,  recalling  all  his 
pride,  he  followed  Monsieur  de  Launay,  with  a  face  which 
showed  no  trace  of  the  terrible  emotion  he  had  experienced. 
They  passed  through  some  ill-lighted  corridors,  descended 
a  spiral  staircase,  and  found  themselves  at  the  door  of  a 
tower.  This  door  opened  out  to  a  yard,  surrounded  by 
high  walls,  which  served  as  a  promenade  to  those  prisoners 
who  were  not  kept  secret.  In  this  courtyard  was  standing 
a  carriage  with  two  horses,  on  one  of  which  was  a  pos- 
tilion, and  they  saw  shining  in  the  darkness  the  cuirasses 
of  a  dozen  musketeers.  A  ray  of  hone  crossed  the  minds 
of  the  two  lovers.  Bathilde  had  asked  the  regent  to 
change  Raoul's  death  into  a  perpetual  imprisonment.  Per- 
haps the  regent  had  granted  liim  this  favour.  The  car- 
ricvge,    ready,    doubless,    to    conduct    him    to   some   state 


436  THE   CIIKVALIER    ij'lIAllMENTAL. 

prison,  the  musketeers  destiued  to  escort  tlicm,  all  gnve 
to  the  supposition  an  air  of  reality.  They  raised  their 
eyes  to  heaven  to  thank  God  fur  this  unexpected  happi- 
ness. Meanwhile  Monsieur  de  Launay  had  signed  to  the 
carriage  to  approach;  the  postilion  had  obeyed,  the  door 
■was  opened,  and  the  governor  —  Avith  his  head  uncov- 
ered—  held  his  hand  to  Bathilde,  to  assist  her  into  the 
carriage. 

She  hesitated  an  instant,  turning  uneasily  to  see  that 
they  did  not  take  Raoul  away  by  the  other  side;  but  seeing 
that  he  was  ready  to  follow  her,  she  got  in  without  resist- 
ance. An  instant  afterwards  Raoul  was  sitting  by  her; 
the  door  was  closed,  and  both  carriage  and  escort  passed 
through  the  gate,  over  the  drawbridge,  and  they  found 
themselves  outside  of  the  Bastille. 

They  threw  themselves  into  each  other's  arms;  there 
was  no  longer  any  doubt;  the  regent  granted  D'Harmental 
his  life,  and,  what  was  more,  consented  not  to  separate  him 
from  Bathilde. 

This  was  what  Bathilde  and  D'Harmental  had  never 
dared  to  hope;  this  life  of  seclusion,  a  punishment  to 
many,  would  be  to  them  a  paradise  of  love;  they  would 
be  together;  and  what  else  had  they  desired  for  their 
future,  even  when  they  were  masters  of  their  own  fate  ? 
A  single  sad  idea  crossed  their  minds,  and  both,  with  the 
sympathy  of  hearts  who  love,  pronounced  the  name  of 
Buvat. 

At  this  moment  the  carriage  stopped;  at  such  a  time 
everything  was,  for  the  lovers,  a  subject  of  fear.  They 
again  trembled,  least  they  should  have  given  way  too 
much  to  hope.     The  door  opened,  —  it  was  the  postilion. 

''What  do  you  want  ?"  asked  D'Harmental. 

"I  want  to  know  where  I  am  to  take  you." 

"  Where  you  are  to  take  me  !     Have  you  no  orders  ?  " 

"My  orders  were  to  take  you  to  the  Bois  de  Vincennes, 
between  the  Château  and  Nogent-sur-Marne,  and  here  we 
are." 


THE    MARRIAGE    IN    EXTREMIS.  437 

"And  where  is  the  escort  ?"  asked  D'Harmental. 

"Oh,  the  escort  left  us  at  the  barrier  !  " 

"Oh,  mon  DieuP^  cried  D'Harmental,  while  Bathilde, 
panting  with  hope,  joined  her  hands  in  silence,  "is  it 
possible  ?  " 

And  the  chevalier  jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  looked 
round  him  anxiously,  then,  clasping  Bathilde  in  his  arms, 
they  uttered  together  a  cry  of  joy  and  thankfulness. 

They  were  free  as  the  air  they  breathed,  but  the  regent 
had  ordered  that  they  should  be  taken  to  the  very  place 
where  D'Harmental  had  carried  off  Bourguignon,  mistak- 
ing him  for  himself. 

This  was  the  only  revenge  of  Philippe  le  Débonnaire. 

"Four  years  after  this  event,  Buvat  —  reinstated  in  his 
place,  and  with  his  arrears  paid  —  had  the  satisfaction 
of  placing  a  pen  in  the  hand  of  a  fine  boy  of  three  years 
old;  he  was  the  son  of  Raoul  and  Bathilde. 

The  first  two  names  which  the  child  wrote  were  Albert 
du  Rocher  and  Clarice  Gray.  The  third  was  that  of 
Philippe  d'Orléans,  Regent  of  France. 


438  THE   CllEVALlEK   j/ilAliMENTAL, 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Perhaps  some  persons  may  have  taken  sufficient  interest 
in  those  who  have  played  a  secondary  part  in  our  history 
to  wish  to  know  what  became  of  them  after  the  events 
which  lost  the  conspiracy  and  saved  the.  regent.  We  will 
satisfy  them  in  a  few  words. 

The  Due  and  Duchesse  du  Maine,  whose  plotting  they 
wished  to  stop  for  the  future,  were  arrested,  —  the  duke 
at  Sceaux,  and  the  duchess  in  her  house  in  the  Rue  Saint 
Honoré.  The  duke  was  taken  to  the  château  of  Doullens, 
and  the  duchess  to  that  of  Dijou,  and  afterwards  to  the 
citadel  of  Chalons.  Both  left  at  the  end  of  a  few  months, 
disarming  the  regent,  one  by  an  absolute  denial,  the  other 
by  a  complete  avowal. 

Richelieu  was  arrested,  as  Mademoiselle  de  Valois  had 
warned  him,  the  day  after  that  on  which  he  had  procured 
Bathilde's  interview  with  the  regent;  but  his  captivity 
was  a  new  triumph  for  him.  It  was  reported  that  the 
handsome  prisoner  had  obtained  permission  to  walk  on  the 
terrace  of  the  Bastille.  The  Rue  Saint  Antoine  was  filled 
with  most  elegant  carriages,  and  became,  in  tvv'cuty-four 
hours,  the  fashionable  promenade.  The  regent  —  who 
declared  that  he  had  proofs  of  the  treason  of  Monsieur  de 
Richelieu  sufficient  to  lose  him  four  heads  if  he  had  them 
—  would  not,  however,  risk  his  popularity  with  the  fair 
sex  by  keeping  him  long  in  prison.  Richelieu,  again  at 
liberty,  after  a  captivity  of  three  months,  was  more  bril- 
liant and  more  sought  after  than  ever;  but  the  closet 
had  been  walled  up,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Valois  became 
Duchesse  de  Modena. 

The  Abbé  Brigand  —  arrested,  as  we  have  said,  at 
Orleans  —  was  kept  for  some  time  in  the  prison  of  that 
town,  to  the  great  despair  of  Madame  Denis  and  her  chil- 


POSTSCRIPTUM.  439 

dren;  but,  one  fine  morning,  as  they  -u^ere  sitting  down  to 
breakfast,  the  abbé  entered,  as  calm  as  ever.  They  asked 
him  a  number  of  questions,  but,  with  his  habitual  pru- 
dence, he  referred  them  to  his  judicial  declarations,  say- 
ing that  the  affair  had  already  given  him  so  much  trouble 
that  they  would  greatly  oblige  him  by  never  speaking  of 
it  any  more.  Now,  as  the  Abbé  Brigand  was  quite  an 
autocrat  in  Madame  Denis's  establishment,  his  desire  was 
religiously  respected,  and  from  that  day  the  affair  was  as 
completely  forgotten  in  the  Rue  du  Temps  Perdu  as  if  it 
had  never  existed.  Some  days  afterwards  Pompadour, 
Valef,  Laval,  and  Malezieux  went  out  of  prison  in  their 
turn,  and  began  again  to  pay  their  court  to  Madame  du 
Maine,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  As  to  the  Cardinal 
de  Polignac,  he  was  not  even  arrested;  he  was  simply 
exiled  to  his  Abbey  d'Anchin. 

These  proofs  of  clemency  appeared  to  Dubois  so  out  of 
all  reason  that  he  came  to  the  regent,  intending  to  make  a 
scene  about  it,  but  the  regent  only  replied,  by  repeating 
the  burden  of  the  song  which  Saint-Simon  had  made  on 
him  :  — 

"  For  I  am  Philippe  le  Débonnaire, 
Philippe  le  Débonnaire." 

This  enraged  Dubois  so  much,  that  the  regent,  in  order 
to  pacify  him,  was  obliged  to  transform  him  into  his 
Eminence  the  Cardinal. 

La  Fillon  felt  so  exalted  by  Dubois's  promotion  that  she 
said  she  would  receive  from  that  time  forward  only  those 
who  could  trace  their  ancestry  as  far  back  as  1399.  It 
should  be  added,  that  her  house  had  lost  one  of  its  most 
illustrious  inmates.  Three  days  after  the  death  of  Captain 
RoquefinettCj  La  Normande  entered  the  house  of  the 
Filles  Repenties. 

THE   END. 


Ilîllïlïlïïï 
AA    000  865  479    o 


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